it could happen

IT COULD HAPPEN

By


TIAGO TILLIN

Synopsis

Minister for the environment, Dan Tindale, fought his way home down the befogged A1. It was a journey surrounded in mystery but there was no way he could have foreseen what lay in wait for him at home - or more precisely, what didn't await him there. This was only the tip of a vast iceberg.

Many activist groups had started out with good intentions throughout the world but had become so disillusioned at the negligible consequences of peaceful action that they turned to terrorism to make themselves heard and to ensure that they had become a force to be reckoned with, someone had the courage to join them together under the name of the Phoenix Group which contained some of the highest trained assassins in the world. Who had masterminded such a group?

Environmental ministers or their families were being targeted from Norway to Japan, Britain to Thailand and even Zimbabwe where a very strong faction had surfaced. There was one common thread in this wave of violence: the international convention in Vienna where many sensitive topics were to be discussed with view to combat terrorism.

A casual news item in a German daily caught the attention of Greenpeace activist and Green Party leader, Martin Schnipfler on holiday in Austria. Alarm bells rang in his mind on reading a report that the parents of the Thai environment minister were missing. Reading about other similar reports from around the world caused him to make a phone call to Vietnamese veteran, Stephen Foggle.

So the race was on as the Phoenix Group of terrorists tried to neutralise the more important governmental ministers before the Vienna convention.

Efforts were being intensified to cut off the Phoenix Group's tentacles - but once one had been severed, others seemed to gain in strength.

Then the unthinkable happened as both Britain and America were thrown into chaos. As both governments were brought down.











The Book


CHAPTER 1

The aura of the befogged A1 deepened his concentration, jettisoning to the hold section of his memory the thoughts of Clare and the children who had earlier been foremost in his mind. I wonder what's for dinner to-night - whatever it is, it's sure to be cremated by the time I get home, he mused. Driving on the central white line was not the cleverest way to travel in the fog - certainly not on such a main arterial road as the A1 - it only needed one person driving in the opposite direction with the same idea and it would be goodbye world. I ought really to telephone Clare and tell her I'll be late, he considered, but then discarded the idea no sooner than it was conceived - let's plod on, he sighed as he hugged the kerb once more, keeping his speed below 20mph as his fog lights blazed into the opaqueness of the night, unable to pierce the looming blankets as they swirled and danced like flitting phantoms trying to invade the sacred sanctuary of the heated interior of his Sirocco.
Red eyes appeared without warning, like demons daring him to tread their bewitched territory, forcing him to brake yet again at the risk of inviting boot-huggers to reshape his luggage space. How many times had he come across a red tail light in the fog and stuck closely to it? He switched off the radio which had begun to lull him into a drowsy plain; then he opened the side window, sticking out his head for a breath of fresh air to jolt him back into full consciousness. Nicht hinauslehnen! He remembered the sign on German trains so well - the warning not to lean out of travelling windows; it's so easy to be decapitated or splattered on the support of an approaching bridge. The blaring of a horn forced him to swerve drastically - he checked, and in so doing, mounted the kerb, giving himself an unpleasant shock, thrusting the steering wheel into gyration so that he had to release it momentarily, involuntarily.
At length he considered taking a wee diversion to look for a place to stop overnight, but his mind was given a further jar as the car that had overtaken him suddenly swung in front and came to a stop. 'Pig's ass!' he cursed and braked as hard as his foot would allow, not giving time to look in the mirror. There was a resounding scrunch as he was hit from behind. His body whip lashed severely, almost snapping his neck. An irate driver forced his way out of his concertina-ed crate and stormed over, launching forth into an unrepeatable verbose orgasm that could have been heard in Liverpool. Dan had the presence of mind to lock his door to avoid any onslaught of physical violence that was certain to follow the verbal diarrhoea. He wasn't at all sure that the raging motorist wouldn't smash in the glass and launch himself at him through the side window. By now, thoughts of the car in front were far from being foremost in his mind; after all, it was that silly bugger who had caused the accident in the first place - he was the one who should be raging at the driver in front. He had not noticed that the offending chariot had quickly engaged gear and whizzed off into obscurity at high speed, leaving scapegoat Dan, as usual, to carry the can. He was paid to carry the can, to have other people's ulcers - the price of being an MP. 'Great!' he thought, 'now what do I do?' Just then there was a second bang, and a third, and a fourth, as other cars piled up so that Mr Irate's car behind had been well and truly squatted both ends.
Within minutes, the police arrived amidst blaring sirens and a modicum of sanity was forced upon the raging throng of motorists. The whole incident cost Dan a couple of hours and a dented boot, as if he weren't late enough as it was. A burnt meal's a burnt meal's a burnt meal he conceded. He resolved to get home to-night whatever time it may be, ignoring a warning of the looming fog whispering a 'stay away.....stay away.....' to him.
On the main road and relaxing a little now, Dan turned on the radio again, tuning in to the FM band. There was a screech of static and then he found he was eavesdropping on a conversation. 'I fixed him OK, that will give us at least another hour's edge. It will all be clear by the time......' and then it faded away. He moved along the wave band trying to seek it out again but to no avail. It came as a shock to hear, 'Dan.... Dan.... Dan Tindale.... dale..... dale....' dwindling to a whisper with a sort of wow to it. 'That's my name,' he shouted aloud at the realisation, but then, 'Na, I'm starting to imagine things; that's what becomes of listening to songs like Schubert's Earl King.' He inserted a James Last tape, but instead of the cascading strings of Romeo and Juliet, there was a whisper, a disembodied voice that grew louder and louder as though a chorus were being orchestrated and conducted to the tune of Dan....Dan....Tindale...., we're watching you.' The whole built up to a terrific crescendo, causing him to take his hands off the steering wheel and clasp them over his ears. He then returned his hands slowly to the wheel as the chorus died to the echoes of an ululating 'ale....ale....ale,' as though it had been recorded in an echo chamber. He switched off the machine and sat back shocked, afraid to stop lest he cause another pile-up.
Past Norman Cross the fog began to thin out - he looked through the side window and was relieved to find that he could see well into the fields on the right. The lights were quite bright - lights? - in a field? He turned away and then suddenly looked back in a double take as the formation of the lights registered in his mind - 'DAN TINDALE' was glaring at him in coloured lights. He pinched himself to see if he were awake or was all this a nightmare? He rubbed his eyes which had started to smart with tiredness, still in a subdued state of shock.
'Beware – Road works Ahead!' announced an advanced warning, then there were further reminders as the road narrowed with the arrival of a regiment of cones. 'Traffic Lights Ahead' announced another sign. As he expected, they were red. 'Come on, come on, I've had enough to-night,' he complained audibly. Ten minutes evaporated in an age, and still they had not changed. A youth darted around the traffic. 'Like an ev'ning paper, Mr Tindale?' asked a red-faced lad with a balaclava as he pressed his face against the side window, distorting his features. Dan opened the window - 'Thanks!' he called and passed the lad a fifty pence piece, putting the paper beside him and changed gear ready to tear off. Yet again he did a double take. "Like a paper, MR TINDALE" - Mr Tindale - how the hell did he know his name? He yelled after the lad but it was too late. The lights were still red. He looked in the mirror and then to each side - there were no cars. There was a huge tailback only moments ago. He turned to the front again to find the lights flicking from amber to red. 'Damn!' Within seconds there was a barrage of blaring horns as traffic materialised from nowhere. Another delay, but this time he was going to fix his gaze on the lights and nothing but nothing would distract him, so he wouldn't miss them changing a second time. After a half hour's wait he made his getaway.
It was a little after ten thirty when he finally pulled into the drive of his detached neo-Georgian house. No lights left on. Can't blame her really, he thought, Clare must have gone to bed fed up with waiting. He turned the key in the lock, exhausted from his traumatic drive, stepped into the hall and slammed the door behind him. It resounded around the whole house. Sh! he told himself, you'll wake them up, then he realised that it was much more resonant than usual. He fumbled for the light switch - strange, the lights didn't work. Dan did not smoke so there was no lighter to hand to help him. Feeling for the mains behind the door, he found it and discovered that it was in the off position. Stranger and stranger; his heart began to pound. He remedied the situation with a quick flick of the lever. Why on earth would they be off? He turned on the light which obeyed his touch but he just could not believe what he saw, or rather what he didn't see. The place was completely bare - no furniture. He dashed into the lounge, turned on the light - nothing, no furniture - nothing! He called upstairs, but Clare's name echoed back at him - then, 'Tym, Kim!' he called his children, but there was no reply, just the haunting reverberation of his own voice. He rushed upstairs - bare - no furniture, no note, nothing! Panic seized him but then rationalisation took hold of him as he controlled himself and remembered that he was still a healthy thirty-five-year-old, otherwise he would have suffered a cardiac arrest - as it was, his heart was beating a tattoo on his chest.
He rushed to his study where one wall was usually lined from floor to ceiling with books. He automatically reached out to his desk for the phone - but there was no phone, no desk, no books - nothing. 'Damn, damn, damn!' He staggered to the stairs and collapsed on the bottom one, withdrew the paper that he had stuffed in his pocket. No wonder the paper lad had known his name - there, staring him right in the face was a picture of himself under the caption, 'Wanted for Questioning! He made an attempt to read the article but it was shaking so much that he had to place it on the stairs to control it whilst he pored over it. There was another picture alongside his - that of a middle-aged Oriental businessman but neither the face nor the name was familiar. One thing was for certain - it was far too dangerous to be hanging around his house. Why should he be wanted for questioning and why was there a picture of this businessman - surely there is no connection, he had never seen the man before in his life – at least that was what he believed at the time. His thinking was becoming irrational in his abject state of shock. Maybe his neighbours had heard or seen something. This is an emergency and assured himself there was just reason for knocking them up so late. His diary at the Commons, he remembered, showed that he had an appointment with an Oriental gentleman - maybe it's the same one, he considered.
There were still lights on all around his neighbours' house - at least someone must be up, he thought – there are too many lights for there to be burglar deterrents. Why should he be thinking of burglars? Garee was still up so at least there would be someone to share his problems. That made him feel much more at ease already.
'Good heavens!' Garee gasped as he saw his friend propping up his door jamb. 'You look as though you've seen a ghost,' not realising how close to the truth he had come. Dan would normally have had a hysterical outburst at the irony of the situation had it not been so serious. He couldn't even force a smile. 'You'd better come in and have a stiff drink,' Garee went on. 'Flo!' he called upstairs, 'It's Dan, come down please, it’s urgent.' A slim middle-aged blonde appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a black and gold silk dressing gown; she was rather embarrassed at appearing with curlers in her hair.
'What's the matter, dear?' Then she noticed her ashen neighbour in the hall. 'Good God, Dan, you look awful, what's the matter?'
By the time Dan had relayed the events of the evening to his long-standing friends, it was nigh on midnight, but he had begun to relax after a few Whisky Macs. 'I think you'd better stay here the night,' Flo suggested, 'and then Garee can help you sort out things in the morning. She then proceeded upstairs to the spare room to make up the bed and tidy up a few things. It's better to sleep on it if you can; it's no use worrying about things you cannot do anything about to-night.'
'That's very kind of you, Flo, but I must move the car - just in case the police come around looking for me - I don't appear to be au fait with them at the present, the problem is that I don’t know why.'
If I stand a chance of finding Clare, he thought, I need to take a closer look at the house now I'm thinking a little more rationally. There may just be something that could give me a clue as to what on earth is going on. It hadn’t dawned on him at the time that if he were wanted, there should be at least one policeman keeping an eye on the house. If he could just find one, he might stand a chance of knowing what had happened to his family. Clare would never have gone without leaving a note, so she must have been taken against her will. As he turned the key in the lock, his heart began to pound as pictures loomed in his mind like an action replay going over and over the events of the evening in slow motion, testing his emotions, but the wind was taken out of his sails as he turned on the light - perhaps he had missed it earlier when he was in a state of panic, but there in front of him was a warning on the fitted mirror in the hall written in lipstick. 'TINDALE...MURDERER - WE'LL GET YOU'. The silence of the house imploded within him, even the breeze that had whistled up was not audible. Then something in the distance alerted him, a sort of tap, tap. He traced the sound to the kitchen - that's how they came in, obviously, he muttered to himself as he heard the gentle tapping of the open window. Perhaps there are some threads caught on the ledge - anything at all to give me a lead. He strode into the room without hesitation but he stopped dead in his tracks. Bile rose up to his throat as he beheld the horrific sight that confronted him. There, suspended from the ceiling, hanging over the sink was a body. It wasn't that he was just shocked at seeing a dead body; that was frightening enough on its own, but the way in which it was hanging with ugly protrusions. It had been trussed up like a turkey with hands tied around the knees, then hung upside down so that blood was dripping into the sink through the long strands of black hair. 'My God, Clare!' he shrieked as he put his hand to his mouth to hold back his retching. There was some sort of knife protruding from the throat and a broom handle was dangling out of the cadaver's anus. From the small amount of the handle showing, it was obvious that it had been rammed in hard before the victim's throat had been stabbed. He turned away quickly, not able to look the body in the face - he had to get out of the room so he returned once more to the stairs, the only thing left in the house that could give him any support. He sobbed aloud and wondered what they, whoever they were, had done with his children. Reasonably composed, he was ready to confront the body again considering it very strange he not noticed it when he first entered the house but when he returned to the kitchen he noticed something dangling that hadn't caught his eye before - genitals! The last time he saw his wife naked was only a few nights ago and she didn't have those, he thought, and turned to face the body. At least it wasn't Clare, thank God. It was the Oriental in the newspaper. His Clare was a Filipino only three years younger than himself but he couldn't guess what nationality this man was. All Orientals, bar Filipinos of course, looked the same to him. From the method of killing it looked as though it had been perpetrated by fellow Orientals.
Dan toyed with the idea of fetching Garee but decided against it because there would be nothing he could do, so he started searching around for clues before hiding his car in his neighbours' garage. He could find nothing tangible at all. Even if there were fingerprints it would be of no use because he dare not call in the police at this stage, not that he had anything to hide - other than the fact he would be suspected of the murder - his credibility was otherwise high being a whizz-kid in the Government, but not for long if the police found him. If there was one chance in a million that his family had gone of their own volition, there would be more than a little embarrassment because he was shortly due to represent his country at the world congress on children and the family - that is after the Vienna congress convened to outlaw the world-wide killing of whales and elephants which had become a major issue throughout the globe and to set up a global task force to combat the production and distribution of drugs..
Tindale was young to hold such a responsible position in government. It was becoming more abundantly clear that he was being groomed to step into the shoes of the Prime Minister when the time came for a change of leadership, though the popularity of the ruling party was fast dwindling. En route he hoped to land one of the major jobs, possibly Home or Foreign Secretary if not Chancellor.
Not of the public school ilk, he was dragged through the state system at a time when there had been a rape of the education system. The idea of huge comprehensive schools looked good on paper, but no way could they be an improvement on a system that had proved successful for so many decades. Change for change's sake, making people equal who couldn't be made equal – fine on paper but no way could it be practical. He then won a scholarship to Oxford - mainly thanks to the fact that his particular comprehensive school was originally a grammar school and the nucleus of staff and the system had been retained - then he graduated in Sociology with an honours degree. His adversaries denigrated his marriage to a Filipino, popular though she was with the majority of the electorate. She had even modified her name to assist her husband's career. Tindale hadn't considered himself a likely target for the IRA and so had only given the subject a fleeting thought after the Brighton bombing.
There appeared to be just one lead - the Oriental in the kitchen - his picture was in the newspaper - so was his own. A few discreet phone-calls may furnish him with enough information to get his foot in the door, but for to-night, he had had enough and so he retired to bed next door.
Sleep didn't come easily as events flitted through his mind, but then he had difficulty in recalling his journey home. He remembered that it had been foggy and he could visualise the face of the paper-lad with his face pressed against the car window. He then worried that Clare and the children had been kidnapped and perhaps lay imprisoned in a rat-infested cellar with no light, trussed up and maybe bunged in a cupboard with little air - then he felt his hackles rise as the thought occurred to him - two places he didn't think to check - the cellar and the cupboard under the stairs - but why had they taken the furniture?

Up at dawn, Dan stealthily tiptoed downstairs, donned an anorak and silently slipped out of the house for a last look to see if daylight would reveal anything he may have missed the previous night and to check on the cellar and the cupboard under the stairs. Imagine the shock as he entered the kitchen to find that there was no trace of the body. Had it been a figment of his imagination? He opened the outside door leading from the kitchen, deciding to inspect the ground in that area. It didn't need any close scrutiny to discover the half empty book of matches below the kitchen window. They must have missed seeing them in the dark he thought - or could they have been left deliberately. Whichever way it was a lead; inside was written, 'Haan Restaurant, Markt Plein, Bruges.' Pocketing these, he returned next door, committing the name and address of the restaurant to memory, only to find that Garee and Flo were both up and about. 'Just been to have a final check,' he mentioned casually.
'Any luck?' Flo asked.
'The house is completely empty,' he replied, taking care to give nothing away or mention the body that he thought he saw the night before. Thought? It was too darned real.
They chatted about trivia over a continental breakfast, the cappuccino restoring a little steel into Dan's befuddled mind. When he was fully alert
he duly thanked them for their hospitality and informed them he would begin his investigation as soon as he had bought himself a few essentials because he possessed absolutely nothing. 'Good God! That's something I haven't thought about. Do you think Clare would have taken all the money out of our joint account?'
'That very much depends whether she decided to leave you or whether anything more sinister has happened,' Garee surmised. 'You're not going anywhere on your own, you are still in a state of shock and you very much need help at this moment. If there is no money, I shall be at hand to remedy the situation - no problem, what are friends for?' He stood up and made to pack a few overnight things. 'I can let you have some clothes and I have a spare of most toiletries - you'll just need to buy a toothbrush. Anyway, where are we going to start?'
'A few discreet enquiries in the city - there are a couple of colleagues I can trust - they won't blow the whistle on me. There's no need for you to come, really. I'll be all right.'
'Your face is too well known, you just can't go around London openly, someone will be bound to spot you - more than likely the Plod Squad.'
Reluctantly Dan agreed to let him come along - at least two people would halve the work and they could help each other out if there was any bother - but he didn't want even his closest friend to know about the book of matches or the body. With the two working separately he would have a chance to give credibility for his trip to Belgium.
First Dan checked with the bank - his wife had made no withdrawals. Now he decided to withdraw a substantial amount of cash himself.
The chores of other enquiries were split between them. On returning to the car, Dan decided to let his friend in on the book of matches and both agreed that a visit to the continent was necessary. It was their only lead. It mattered not whether the matches were left there intentionally or not.
At Ramsgate they boarded the hovercraft, which was delayed because of mid channel fog. By three o'clock they were travelling through the Belgian countryside en route for Bruges.
Steeped in history and embalmed in charm and beauty, Bruges boasts some of the country's finest architecture. It is indeed Belgium's shop window for its famous lace.
The two men booked into a local pension. Dan told the patron that they would park their car nearby, hopefully free from any parking penalties, and then return with their luggage. Foolishly ignorant of the maze-like one-way traffic system, they failed to locate the wretched guest house again. Feeling thoroughly embarrassed, dejected and defeated after an hour's searching, they gave up searching for the pension and parked the car in a permitted space near the city centre.
'You go and see if you can locate the guest-house on foot then get yourself a quick snack, I'll meet you back at the car in two hours' time.'
The Markt Plein is dominated by a thirteenth century belfry - built when the town was at its richest and most extravagant - a symbol of civic pride and municipal independence. Its carillon, added in the eighteenth century, launches forth into hymn tunes every quarter hour from nine thirty in the morning to five at night, save a break at midday. The belfry's distinctive octagonal lantern top can be seen for miles across the surrounding polders.
In need of a little refreshment himself, Dan ventured into one of the string of restaurants that line two adjacent sides of the square. Assured that the Haan Restaurant was one of those, he searched around until he found it. Making a note of its location he decided to patronise the one next door so that he could keep an eye on those coming to and going from the Haan, from a seat under the awning.
Not trusting the natives entirely, he took his newly acquired hold-all with him and ordered a cappuccino and a waffle with Chantilly at the risk of encouraging his already swelly belly to add a few more inches to his inflated prominent paunch. Dan was reasonably fluent in French and prided himself with a fair accent - he was astonished after ordering une gauffre, to find he was served with a knickerbockers glory. An argument ensued and Dan felt he was on the losing side of the verbal volley. The waitress stormed off amidst a string of abuse delivered faster than a Pete Sampras serve, only to return with a circular tray with a banana milk shake. Fed up with trying to make himself understood in perfectly good French and certain that the Belgians haven't a clue how to speak it properly, he resigned himself to accepting the shake which he removed from the tray. That detonated another verbal onslaught. 'That is not for you,' she had now resorted to English, but it was too late, he had already attacked the liquidised banana for which he was given a straw - no way could he draw the thick mulch through such a small aperture.
Adequately satisfied with the meal in a glass he duly paid his bill and set out to explore the delights of the city - only too glad to be out of the restaurant, hopefully never to return. He took one of the many cobbled streets that led off the square. A disturbance turned his attention to the direction of the cafe he had just left. A man with a dome-like head set on square shoulders and no neck, rather like a traffic bollard was gesticulating frantically and appeared to be arguing vehemently with a man in a homburg hat - both looking in Dan's general direction and pointing. Surely they couldn't have been onto him already - he wasn't followed, that was for certain - or was it? - he wasn't a trained agent so he could have been tailed all the way from England. Then perhaps the matches had been dropped intentionally to lure him away - but why? - in which case he would have been expected.
With the arrival of the supermarket, the British sweetshop has virtually ceased to exist. Every newsagent and supermarket strategically arranged a cross-section of confectionary to tempt toddlers to grab a handful and surreptitiously secrete their haul under some of the goods in the trolley. In Belgium, sweet-shop displays look more like carnival floats with each chocolate and sweet painstakingly positioned in a mouth-watering tableau with oodles of praline fruits de mer. Dan could not resist entering one such establishment to purchase a half kilo which the shopkeeper proudly boxed, gift-wrapped and tied with a ribbon rosette - there was no need to go to so much trouble because the chocolates would not be in the box long enough to warrant such secure parcelling, he certainly had no intention of buying them for anyone else. Second thoughts, he ought to give a box to Garee and Flo for their kindness, so he purchased a second kilo. It was a luxury he considered he could afford himself amidst his woes - little comfort really.
Panic welled within him as he suddenly caught sight of Homburg with his back towards him, speaking abruptly to some stranger who shrugged in ignorance. Throwing discretion to the mild breeze he crossed the street and sought the haven of an ancient curiosity shop packed with paraphernalia of every description. Luck was temporarily with him as a voice said. 'You wish trip, yes? Last place, please to come this way,' at which he was hastily ushered to a back room before he had chance to reply, was relieved of forty francs and whisked down a flight of steps onto an awaiting motorised punt.
The guide, obviously a university student, seemed pleased to give vent to his linguistic prowess as he detailed all the historic buildings in five languages whilst they chugged by. A round trip! The thought suddenly strangled him - they would know that - would be waiting for him. Fear suddenly gripped him, for on approaching a low bridge, he could see Bollard directing a hail of abuse at him - perhaps he'll leap onto the punt as it approaches the bridge, he thought. At this juncture the punt slowed as the guide asked them all to turn around, there was the most famous sight in the city. He assured all the passengers there would be ample time to take photos to capture the picturesque view after the boat had manoeuvred itself alongside the grass verge, which was bespeckled with an assortment of ducks all preening themselves conceitedly.
This was the chance he needed. As a child he had been taught that opportunities will always arise and that he must recognise them and act upon them. Before the first click of the camera, Dan was off the boat, running, fearing that at any moment a figure would lurch out in front of him - and then - total oblivion! Avoid passages he heard himself say, no escape - tower ahead - church - sanctuary - hope!
Within moments he was easing open the west door of the cathedral to be greeted with celestial sounds as he fumbled his way to an empty seat at the back. The place was packed - a concert was in progress. Relax, he instructed himself - thumb and forefingers - depress eyeballs and hyperventilate - slows heartbeat, reduces flow of adrenalin. The musical notes formed themselves into recognisable sounds of Schubert's Alle Seelen which pervaded the place. It was being rendered by a young boy whose timbre of voice made Aled Jones in his hey day sound like an alley cat. It was as though the singer's soul reached out and personally plucked at his heartstrings - he had been translated into an ethereal world.
Barely had the strains of the final cadence melted away than he was jerked back into reality by a creaking sound - there, framed in the doorway of the south porch stood Bollard - que faire? He slid out of his seat hoping he had not been spotted, and then he retraced his tracks through the porch brushing into someone on their way in. 'Pardon, monsieur,...' he checked himself and fled as he realised it was Homburg. Like the fleeing sexton who was drawn back to the coffin he had nailed himself to, leaden legs hampered his haste. He stumbled over a loose cobble - twisted ankle - damn - that's all I need, he cursed aloud.
Nearby some children were playing with a ball in a side street. Safety in numbers! Relating a pathetic tale to the innocent bystanders, he persuaded them to accompany him back to the Markt Plein, pretending he didn't know where he was. At least he was in a crowd - safety in public places - so he selected a suitable cafe that advertised Duvel, Belgium's extra-strong lager. He had promised the children one each as a reward for their kindness, remembering that youngsters of their age were permitted to drink beer in that country.
They sat themselves down at a convenient table. Whilst awaiting refreshment, which he had once again ordered in French to impress the children, Dan amused the youngsters with a few anecdotes which he exchanged for a little information. He produced a photo of Clare and the children he always kept in his wallet, and asked if they had seen any of those in the photo.
'Oh yes,' said a little girl, 'she found our ball for us - a really nice lady.'
'Where?' Dan asked urgently, 'When?'
'Perhaps ten minutes before you came along - right where you saw us,' another replied. About to charge out of the cafe, Dan suddenly changed his mind as both Homburg and Bollard had joined forces in a last concerted show of strength, bursting through the cafe door. Trapped! No weapon - no escape. He sank low in his seat resigned to accepting whatever lay in store for him.
'Ah there you are, monsieur.' It was a breathless Bollard who took the initiative. 'You 'ave led us on a 'ow do you say, wild duck 'unt,' in his best English.
'Goose chase,' prompted the other, which seemed to relax the tension.
'Ah yes monsieur, you left this at the Restaurant Canard.' At this he produced Dan's hold-all. A smile of relief gradually grew on his face and he invited the two foot-worn gentlemen to join them in a drink - a Duvel, naturellement!
Turning to the little girl who recognised Clare, he asked whether his wife was on her own or with children.
'Oh yes, definitely on her own.'
'Are you quite sure?
'Yes.'
'No other man?'
'No, I don’t think so.'
That was that then. She seemed able to move freely - at least for the time being - which meant that they were holding the children - but what do they want from me he asked himself. He was soon to find out.
Garee had no success in locating the pension but he had managed to book into another, taking very careful note of the the name of the street and the proximity of notable features, and where it was in relation to their parked car so there would not be a repetition of their earlier embarrassment.
After settling themselves into their new pension, they decided to return to the main square and stroll around, each taking opposite directions, until it was time to eat.
The sound of Haan Restaurant belied the class of such a place offering high quality culinary delights, many of which were swimming around a tank in the centre of the room. Both men decided to cheer themselves up by ordering a really first rate meal - the shock came afterwards.
At the end of the meal, a waiter, not the one who had served them, presented the bill on a silver salver as was custom. Garee took the plate and placed it on the table. Dan snatched the bill before Garee had the chance to pay. Picking up the bill, Dan stared at it in disbelief - not the cost of the meal, there was no bill, only a note. 'Our compliments - the meal is on us - PTO. You will not interfere in other countries' matters - they don't concern you. We hold your family - if you want them back you will not attend the convention in Vienna. If you now look out of the window you will see we mean business.'
Dan rushed to the picture window at the front of the restaurant. Outside, a car was parked - Dan couldn't see anything unusual - that was until his attention was averted as the waiter who had presented the bill took to the driving seat - he could make out two people in the rear seat. 'Good heavens!' he exclaimed as he rushed out of the door to the car which suddenly accelerated and sped off - the two faces at the rear window were mouthing something - 'Help us daddy - PLEASE!'
Dan returned to the restaurant, gently pushing back Garee who had started after him, and sank back into his seat. His friend promptly ordered two double whiskies.
'So now we know what it's all about,' handing Garee the note he was still clutching. 'It's not money - thankfully Clare and the children haven't left me - that is, not of their own volition - what am I saying? I just implied I prefer them to have been kidnapped!'
'Don't worry, I know what you mean - at least you know they're safe for the time being. You've just seen the children and you know that Clare was seen earlier.'
'I just can't believe any of this is real. It's another fortnight till the congress.' His mind wandered. 'Greed - pure selfishness, all this killing - thousands of elephants and whales slaughtered for man's greed. Child labour and drugs have to be stopped and this is one chance to do something about it.'
'You must try to think rationally, Dan. You have to consider the lives of your family against the lives of animals. It's as simple as that, as far as I can see.'
'We have to do something, we can't just let people snatch my family and get away with it, nor let people get away with such atrocities around the world, but where do we start?'
'There's little we can do tonight - let's go back to the guest house and list everything that has happened - we can then have a good night's sleep, study the notes and draw conclusions in the morning. What is the point of worrying about things we cannot control? At least writing things down clears the mind and body and enables them to function normally.'



CHAPTER 2

The strain of the past week belied the seemingly youthfulness of Ayakin Hokomo, Japan's foreign minister. The majority of his countrymen wished the hunting and slaughtering of whales to continue but then there was a sudden greenness beginning to eat at people's consciences, and so all the assemblies he addressed were well interspersed with hecklers, making his speeches hard work despite the modern technology of amplification. He had all too frequently seen the consequences of drug abuse.
Hokomo considered a wife an unnecessary hindrance to his total devotion to his work, his charisma and dedication making him a celebrity in the tradition of David Bellamy but bordering more on the comic eccentricity of Ian McCaskill the well-loved British weatherman, or is he really a comedian? Even
Hokomo’s adversaries could not dislike him as a person, only the issues he stood for. So in order to meet his bodily needs and relax, he attended a massage parlour - not any old place but one that revered him as an emperor, only serving a very elite clientele. Unlike a wife who would grow old with him and lose her sexual excitement, he could renew his partner at any time without any twinge of conscience. However, for the past three months he had been served by Tomiko who still taught him something new and exciting each week he visited her. This night he was to be disappointed as he was told she was away sick and so he was offered someone special in her place. He had to admit that on the face of it, she didn't look at all a bad substitute for the odd occasion - looking just as ravishing as Tomiko. His usual routine began by taking a steam bath laced with sensual oils that stimulated the mind and relaxed the body ready for the wonderful hour that followed.
Tikito, Tomiko's stand-in was very much like her in as much as she was only five foot two, slim and dainty with a youthful figure. Her face was a little rounder than Tomiko's, but the main contrast was in the eyes that seemed to ring a warning signal deep inside Hokomo as they penetrated his stare yet did not smile with the rest of her face. He was foolish not to heed the warning.
Before the massage and anointing of oils, Hokomo was led into the steam bath where he usually wallowed for a half hour or so. This time it seemed unduly hot and the steam was so intense he could see nothing beyond his own hand. The only sound was the click of the door as someone came in - Hokomo relaxed again. He could barely last ten minutes in this heat so he made to leave but the door was locked. The click had not been of someone entering and closing the door but of someone intentionally shutting him in, he thought. Starting to panic he hammered on the door - no-one responded to his banging, then a disembodied voice arose out of the steam, 'Stay exactly where you are Hokomo san. You can't see me but I can see you in the sight of the gun I am pointing at you.' Hokomo felt like screaming - so someone had come in - no way could he overpower someone he couldn't see - not with a gun aimed at him anyway. 'What I have to say is to be taken seriously and to prove this I suggest you buy an English newspaper where you will find an account of your brother's unfortunate accident. If you do not wish to meet with a similar accident, then you will not attend the Vienna convention. Think of the thousands of people who will be out of work if anything goes ahead as expected in Vienna. To pass such a motion will deprive hundreds of our people a living. Should you not heed this warning you will join your brother.'
Hokomo felt more naked than he actually was, unable to form any words, feeling more terror than he had ever known. There was another click of the door as the visitor let himself out.
Hokomo charged out after him, towel in hand, but despite his running the length of the narrow corridor, no-one was in sight until occupants of the rooms lining the corridor poked their faces out of their doors to see what had caused the stampede. Hokomo looked down at his nakedness, wrapped the towel around him and entered the room where Tikito was waiting. He removed his towel and lay on the couch as the young girl poured oils over him, pummelling his reasonably athletic looking body whilst he made a mental note that the oils she was using were so very different from the ones he was used to. She placed a cask under his nose as he lay on his stomach enjoying the sensation of the treatment, but he was soon losing his senses as his conscience declined into a hypnotic state. He did not even feel the blade of the scalpel that pierced the skin of his buttocks, which was then drawn across both cheeks, leaving a deep red trail of blood. The incision and carving were deftly executed. The Japanese was asked to turn over and lie on his back whilst a moist towel was put over his face. He continued in a semi-state of oblivion whilst skilful fingers picked up his limp member and carved four tramlines the full length of his manhood. Blood oozed from the wounds on both sides of his body now as the towel was removed, only to be replaced by sensual lips and an exploring tongue. As the effects of the hypnotic oils wore off he began to stir as experienced hands cupped his supple sac. As the swelling continued he felt a surge of excruciating pain that engulfed him, making him scream out. A thin rope was wound around his neck, crossed and then tightened more and more as the voice hovering over him reinforced the intruder's words. 'You have been warned.' With that she left, of no further use to him, neither would anyone else be for some weeks to come. Hokomo sat up and stared at the member which was deflating rapidly and then he sensed a further smarting which seemed to stem from underneath him. He forced himself to his feet, half turned and stared into the mirror whereupon he fell to the ground in a faint as he beheld the inverted etching of 'shi' - the sign of death.

Pieter Ngabe Foreskin (pronounced For-es-kin), had physically vomited after his helicopter had hovered over the holocaust - he stopped counting after two hundred and fifty carcasses, many of the elephants, including their young had been hacked unmercifully - first their tusks then their meat. The poachers would net a few million dollars. Foreskin had been drawn to the clearing by the encircling vultures, which swooped down to hack at the remains but he was too late to save this herd. He had gathered and armed teams of indigents to try to combat the mass slaughter that the country was suffering but like everything else, a shortage of money had left just a few devotees who were prepared to work for a mere pittance yet prepared to face death to save the dwindling animals. Others had been frightened or bought off and in some cases they had been infiltrated and so the poachers had been given advanced warning of their movements. Zimbabwe had enough internal problems of its own without having to fight off foreigners.
Pieter Foreskin, Zimbabwe’s minister for the environment, lived in a far from affluent ranch house on twelve hundred acres of farm and scrubland, twenty miles south of west Pamuzinda. He couldn't wait to be back home with his family - his wife Penny was English and had studied medicine at Oxford where Pieter was engaged with political studies. Their children were of a rather unusual caste; Sara, now fifteen was rather like an over-tanned European whereas Mark at thirteen was coffee coloured and boasted an athletic body. The strange thing was that Sara had closely cropped black curly hair but Mark’s was long straight and dark brown. Both children were particularly handsome and blessed with an exceptionally brilliant brain. Pieter always modestly attributed their brains and looks to their mother who in turn insisted that their favourable facets had been inherited from their father. They were a very happy family who lived closely together and to nature, which they had come to love dearly. Only the previous evening Penny and Pieter sat at the foot of a kopje, arms around each other watching the sunset, listening to the choir of weaver birds chanting in the warm breeze amidst the chattering of baboons. The luminescent clouds were etched in golds and reds as the sun's rays cast laser beam outlines around them.
'Life is so wonderful when I see nature in its natural form - if only man hadn't ruined so much beauty with ugly buildings and greed.'
'Especially greed,' Penny added. 'If only life could always be as carefree as this.'
'Life is full of "if only"s, but now not even the animals can live without threat of extinction hovering over them and the poor things can't plead with us to look after them.'
As the chopper bringing Pieter home came to rest at the front of the house, whisking up clouds, Foreskin ducked and ran towards the building, stopping to wave away the pilot. It was then that his sixth sense warned him that something was very wrong; he didn't know how he knew or what had triggered off the warning. 'Penny!' he called as he opened the door which had only been painted the previous day. There was no reply - usually she came out to greet him when she heard the helicopter or the Land Rover. 'Penny!' he yelled again, 'Sara, Mark, I'm home!' Still there was an uncanny silence in the house. He ran through the house and out of the back door, repeatedly calling their names.
'I'm afraid they are not in a position to answer at the moment.' It was spoken in an accent Foreskin could not place but he knew that it emanated from a black man. He turned around to see three men, all black, but none he had seen before - they were certainly not any of his hired hands. They were some of the biggest fellows he had ever seen - and ugly too.
'Mr Foreskin,' he paused for effect, watching the fear gradually pervade his face, 'We have come to help you prepare your speech for Vienna.' Pieter wanted to say that he was quite capable of doing it on his own thanks very much but he didn't altogether consider it wise on seeing the meanness in their faces; he didn't think they would appreciate a remark like that so he just remained silent.
'Relax, my friend,' said the one in the middle - such terms of endearment in films always indicate hostility, he thought and wondered what was coming next - he could only expect the worst as the family were not around. This man was the biggest of the three and appeared to be the spokesman whilst the others just listened with a smug smirk on their faces. He was in command.
'We would like you to come into your living room where we have set the stage for some entertainment.' Pieter tried to contain the fear that had enshrouded him as his sweat glands became more active and exuded a mixture of deodorant and sweat. The spokesman led the way, the other two taking the rear to ensure that the environment minister didn't make a dash for a hidden weapon.
'Please be seated, Mr Foreskin,' he feigned politeness. The other two left the room and shortly returned with Penny and the children who were gagged and their wrists tied. 'Your family are the stars of the performance,' he said sarcastically as he ushered them to their seats. 'We have to be sure that you say all the right things in Vienna - there is so much at stake.' Not one of the family had any idea what was going to happen - even if they cared to hazard a guess, they would have never come up with the horrific scenario that was about to unfold.
'You! Up!' commanded one of the two who had not previously spoken, as he stood in front of Mark. Weak-kneed the boy obeyed. 'Undress!' Mark looked at his parents for a sign of permission to go ahead but they were dumbfounded. They were now raging and their minds were conjuring up the worst.
A long refectory table had been placed in the centre of the room. The two hulks bodily lifted the boy and laid him on the table so that the three pillows stacked one on top of the other, were in the centre of his back. The two men pinned the boy's arms and legs. 'Such a charming boy,' the leader commented, 'just ripe for the operation.' Fortunately Mark hadn't a clue what they were talking about but Penny screamed in horror as she guessed at what was about to happen. The huge man regarded the boy's genitals set amidst a finery of shrubbery and took hold of the semi-developed appendage in his fingers and carefully stroked it. 'I'm going to perform an operation - it's quite common at the onset of manhood in many tribes.'
Foreskin made to get up - 'I shouldn't if I were you,' the man warned, 'the boy's in my hands,' so Pieter sat down again.
'You pig's dung!' the boy's father shouted. The spokesman bent over the boy's protrusion as though to engulf it with his mouth when suddenly he gave an animal-like roar as lifting the boy’s foreskin in his teeth he bit it off and spat it on the floor. 'He'll have to change his name now,' the man jeered at his parents. He then went over to the mantelpiece as the boy was left screaming and sobbing, took hold of a bottle and poured the brown contents on the wound. Iodine. The screams the boy uttered were ear-splitting and heart-rending as the parents were made to witness the trauma in silence.
Whilst the heavies turned the boy over so that his stomach was on the pillow, the spokesman undid his trousers and bared himself, revealing manhood the likeness of a bull. Penny turned away, knowing what was about to happen and Pieter tried comforting her in order to avert his gaze. 'To show that I am a compassionate man, I shall prepare the way with my fingers and a little lubrication,' he said as he produced a small tube from his pocket. First he tried one finger, then two, then three, attempting to make way to accommodate the assault. 'You are lucky I'm so worked up,' he smirked, 'because it won't take long.'
'If the other two put their oars in, they'll kill him,' Penny managed to get out amidst ululation.
'They are not to be taken lightly - these men are ruthless,' her husband whispered in her ear.
The spokesman withdrew within the minute, mopping up the mess with a wad of cotton wool. 'You may sit down now - if you can!' he added, taking it to be a huge joke. 'It's your turn next, young lady,' he said to Sara who stared in disbelief. She was not asked to undress as in the case of her brother but was bodily lifted onto the table and the clothes ripped off her by the spokesman who had dressed himself by now. He was frighteningly strong. 'We are not so mean as to deprive the young lady of her virginity,' he assimilated pity. The other two brutes were busy fondling her, licking her nipples and rubbing their own private parts.
The spokesman made her lie on her stomach whilst the other two undid their trousers revealing equally massive and menacingly ugly members. The girl buried her face as she caught a glance of the threat, her little heart pounding within her. The huge man held her firm whilst the two henchmen entered her in turn. The pain was insufferable as she felt herself splitting internally.
Meanwhile Mark, dancing around the floor naked, surreptitiously took hold of a knife that was lying behind a bowl of fruit on the sideboard and whilst the second of the thugs was busy with his sister, the other two looking on lecherously, spittle drooling from their mouths, he lunged into the ribs of the man who had tortured him. His thrust was so strong and the ribs of the man so solid that the blade snapped as it hit the bone. The other two were unaware of the assault and couldn't understand why their leader suddenly gasped but he was so strong it made little impression, feeling more like a pin prick. He looked down to his side and withdrew the protruding blade. By now Mark was out of the house running for his life, still naked, towards the estate manager's house.
'This, my friends, is a mere spit in the ocean compared with what will happen if you do not read in Vienna what we have written. I shall now also have to avenge the boy's folly.' The other two left to take hold of a couple of cans of paraffin and were sprinkling it about. One of the thugs struck a match and set the place alight as he left hastily through the back door.
'You will remember tonight when you are in Vienna, my friend, believe me, you will remember. I bid you farewell, said the spokesman on his way out as he handed over their prepared speech.
Still naked, Mark knocked on Tom's door. 'Good heavens, Mark, what's happened?' the old man asked. There was no time to go into detail - with the little breath that he had he gave a brief outline of what had happened and asked the farm manager to come quickly. The old man grabbed a rifle and tore out of the house as fast as his legs would take him.
The three terrorists were running through the scrub towards their pickup when Tom caught a glance of them, had one of them in his sight and fired just as the other two disappeared from view. 'Damn, too late!' he cursed as Mark struggled to keep up with Tom. Shortly they came across the thug Tom had winged - in fact, much more than winged, he had put a bullet clean through his head. Just then he heard a vehicle start up and ran towards the sound as he reloaded. He fired in the general direction of the sound but he couldn't see and would never know that he had hit the vehicle, the bullet passing through the rear window and lodging itself in the neck of the other henchman who was in the passenger seat.
Smoke was soaring from the Foreskins’ residence which urged Tom and Mark to hasten back to the building where they found the Foreskins trying desperately to douse the flames but they had taken too much of a hold, fanned by the evening breeze. 'It's no use, we can't stem the blaze,' Pieter shouted over the roar of the flames. 'Just grab what you can and get out before it collapses.' Tom darted in and grabbed anything of reasonable value that came to hand but Mark was still suffering too much pain to brave the heat of what was rapidly becoming an inferno.
Penny had rescued her doctor's bag and by the time they had arrived at Tom's place, she tended her son's injuries. Tom and his wife just couldn't do enough to help the family but kept on reproaching themselves for not being to hand earlier - they had not heard anything. Now they insisted that the Foreskins move into their little place whilst they in turn would evacuate and occupy the hired hand's abode that was vacant, so that the Foreskins could have the complete run of their home.
The police were called who duly took away the thug's body but they were not told the reason for the terrorists' attack on the family and home. Fortunately their Land Rover was unharmed, but that was little consolation for the rape of the people and property. At least they had been partly avenged by Tom's quick action, but it didn't in any way repair the damage - it would be quite some time before Mark and Sara recovered both physically but more especially from the mental scars that would last much, much longer, if not for ever.

Of all the world's monarchs, few could equal the popularity of King Bhumibol of Thailand - a people's king, sharing with Prince Charles of Great Britain, concern for the environment. To his people he is sometimes called 'the farmer king' but to most, 'the good and great king'. He is an engineer, an agriculturist, cartographer, photographer, artist, musician and sportsman - both a hard-working man and a great thinker. Most of his talents have been directed to his people rather than towards his own personal pleasure or gain. Many of his paintings have been exhibited in both Thailand and America. As a photographer, his pictures are on a par with the finest of professionals. His favourite subject, not surprisingly, is his wife, the most beautiful Queen Sirikit.
King Bhumibol has an inborn instinct for natural science as to how things should be done to produce the best results. He works closely with his people over projects he initiated himself - small dams, contour planning, dripping irrigation systems, water conservation and many other schemes to provide water for everyone. Although a king with endless funds to hand, he always employs the simplest and most economical methods, for much of the country is situated in either a drought or flood zone.
As a musician, the king is an exponent of the saxophone family, and also plays the clarinet and trumpet, but following a serious illness his doctors advised him to stop playing wind instruments so he turned his hand to classical guitar and composition. For many years he had his own or sor band consisting of both professionals and amateurs.
As a sportsman he enjoyed skiing, swimming, badminton, ice-skating and sailing, giving his Royal Patronage to many sporting activities. In the year of his sixtieth birthday, he was awarded the Insignia of the Olympic Order, by the International Olympic Committee - 'for all the contributions made in the promotion, development and advancement of sports in the kingdom, region and continent.'
The second award was bestowed by his people - 'Sumdej Phra Bhumibol Adulyadej Maharaj' - King Bhumibol Adulyadej the Great - only the third monarch in the Chakri Dynasty to be granted this honour by his people.
It was not surprising that the king worked closely with Pui Phanit, the environment minister and the only female in the Thai government whose senior posts were held by the militia.
There is no appeasing a woman campaigner, for her bigoted instinct within her will not accept a compromise, rather she will fight to the death - and so it was with Pui. She was determined to stamp out the slaughter of elephants that was happening in South East Asia as well as in many parts of Africa, not that legislation would put an end to the destruction, more slow it down and it would empower the authorities to impose the severest penalties upon anyone caught trading in ivory or poaching. She wanted the world to revere her country but with prolific prostitution, part of the Thai culture, and the growth of trade in drugs, she had an almost impossible task but she was going to make her voice heard in Vienna.
Pui at twenty-nine was single and a very eligible young lady too, married to her work she lived with her parents and younger sister on the outskirts of Bangkok.
Over the past three days, Pui had been visiting villages along the Burmese border, overseeing some of the work in areas where they were reluctant to undergo any sort of change. Being so fully occupied with her work precluded her assisting with domestic chores or cooking, so she paid a little extra to her parents and the family amah. Pui's younger sister, Prem, was still at university.
Arriving home after her visit to the North, she was confronted with a very distressed amah. 'Oh miss,' she complained in her native tongue, 'when I returned from shopping there was no-one at home.' Pui tried to comfort her but even she knew that her parents would never go away without saying so beforehand.
'And Prem has not come home either - you know she's always in by now.'
'Mai pen rai,’ a never mind, all will be well, Pui comforted with the usual Thai rhetoric, 'perhaps she has found herself a young man, or perhaps the old ones have taken her out.' By eleven o'clock there was still no sign of Pui's family, so she decided to contact the police. After checking with all the hospitals they could not come up with any news. 'At least they appear not to have met with an accident, we have checked all the hospitals,' said the police lieutenant, then he added, 'there's little else we can do - they are old enough to look after themselves - anyway, we wouldn't know where to start looking - even to help an environment minister,' he said with a grin in his voice.
Pui stayed up most of the night and when she did finally retire to bed she could not sleep and was up again at first light. That morning she cancelled all her engagements for the day and remained at home.
It wasn't till mid morning that she discovered a parcel sitting on the doorstep addressed to her on an envelope stuck to the upper side of it. Before undoing the package she broke into the envelope to see if there was a note. She stood aghast, her hands beginning to tremble as she read, 'We have your parents and sister. Do not contact the police - do exactly as you are told - now open the parcel.'
What can I do, she wondered, I’ve already contacted the police. She turned over the note. On the reverse side of those terrible words was written: You will not attend the Viennese congress. Having read so much about terrorism around the world, Pui was reluctant to open the parcel in case it exploded, but then she took comfort in the fact that it would not blow up if they were holding her parents hostage.
She unwrapped the parcel carefully until the contents were revealed. She let out an ear-piercing scream and dropped the package. On the floor lay six little toes.


CHAPTER 3

Whenever Martin Schnipfler needed a rest and time to think, he invariably ventured into Austria for some alpine hiking. For nigh on two years he had been a member of Greenpeace but grew at odds with them over the way they demonstrated their protests. Still Germany's leading naturalist, he was never short of work and was frequently asked to speak at Green gatherings around the continent and was expected to stand as a candidate for the Green Party. He rarely left his house without his camera and a small cassette recorder.
Based in Alpbach on the Tyrolean border in Austria, Schnipfler rose early to wend his way to a starting point for his hike. It was a glorious, cloudless day with an azure space, which seemed to reach down to him as he climbed the spiralling pathways. It is difficult to get lost in areas where there are hiking schemes because of the different colour-coded markings painted on rocks along each route.
He had been busying himself with his camera as he watched a group of marmets scurrying around some low rocks in the middle of a meadow. Nearby a salamander popped out from behind some rocks to see what or who had the audacity to intrude upon its privacy, ogling the figure ogling the fauna. Satisfied with his photography, Schnipfler moved on, sometimes crossing meadowland, other times crunching his way on shingle that fell away sharply to a ravine.
Within minutes of packing away his camera into his rucksack, he found he could barely see a hand in front of him - he had penetrated a wall of fog. The temperature suddenly dropped. Following the blue and white concentric circles of his route was just about possible but the fog now made it much more difficult. All of a sudden he walked into a sheep, stumbled and fell - on picking himself up he found hundreds of the weird woollies staring him in the face. They didn't seem to appreciate his being there because they suddenly stampeded giving him no opportunity to find an escape route - there was little room to manoeuvre because to his right was a three metre rock face - he could not see what lay on the left, possibly a sudden drop for a couple of thousand feet, so he decided to hug the rock face, almost deafened by the chorus of bleating smelly creatures, some of which were limping badly and had obviously come to grief on a slope. Once again he was pushed to the ground and trampled on as the terrified flock pressed on regardless of where they were heading. 'Thanks a million!' he called out to one scruffy looking individual who had deposited its own cluster of 'currants' all over him.
Rising to his feet as the last one passed, he brushed himself down and felt spots of rain - then it came in earnest - not raining as it had started but now snowing so that there was a complete white-out. Within moments there was a thick white carpet, obliterating all the route marks.
If he decided to turn back there would be no guarantee that he would return to where he started because there were endless places where the tracks forked or crossed. Being an experienced hiker, he always carried a map of the area and an orienteering compass which he duly extracted from his cagoule and studied the map, remembering some of the landmarks he had passed before hitting the fog, and so he made his way forward to seek one of the alpine Hutte indicated on his map.
Within the hour, the snow had ceased, leaving him enshrouded in fog hovering above the dry snow. There was a stillness that was occasionally broken by distant cowbells of the cattle that had not yet been taken down to their winter abode. Luck was with him as he stumbled onto the hut long before he had expected and was soon rewarded with a Schnapps that set him aglow inwardly. Within five minutes he was tucking into a thick homemade soup, Bratwurst and a roll. The host was typically Austrian - a jolly robust soul who enjoyed a good yarn, he soon discovered.
By the time Schnipfler was back in the valley, he found the sun guarding it as it had when he left, but there was a stillness that seemed unnatural for there was usually a good deal of noise from the camaradie amongst the tourists and in particular, the villagers themselves. The whole village stood still - not a shop open although it was well past the afternoon opening time - no-one was supping coffee or drinking beer outside the Gasthofs. Solemnly the local inhabitants, augmented by scores of holiday-makers, lined the streets in silence, it was like watching a silent movie. Schnipfler edged his way to the front to see what was going on and heard the sound of a distant band gradually wending its way nearer. Around the corner, leading into the main street, came a languid procession, snaking its way to the little church - at the front, four men clad in national costume carried a coffin on which rested a solitary red rose whilst ensuing mourners hefted huge oval wreaths, each dangling to within a few centimetres from the ground. Some uttered lamentations whilst at the tail, a band played a dirge that froze the hearts of the onlookers. There was a soul-rending ambience that drew tears from the strangers. No villager, except the bedridden, remained at home - the houses left open were a field day for would-be burglars, but this was rural Austria - they knew their possessions were safe; no-one would ever dream of even stripping fruit from the boughs of the heavily laden apple trees that overhung the spotless pavements. Red geraniums, red and white petunias, the national colours, adorned the window boxes the length of every building, lining the streets. Below large looming eaves glared down upon a splendid array of meticulously nurtured flowers and shrubs in the front gardens.
The funeral procession turned into the church followed by mourners and as many villagers that could squeeze into the little white stuccoed little baroque church under its slender green spire. Bordering two sides of the building was the graveyard unparalleled with its wrought iron, each grave adorned with a photograph of the occupant as they were in their heydays. At night a little candle set in a red glass burned on each grave all of which were packed with an assortment of fresh blooms, well trimmed so that no dead flowers were visible. In between the graves was coarse gravel, completely free from weeds. The villagers there knew their relatives and friends could rest in peace knowing that their remains would be well tended with loving care amidst the picturesque panorama of the surrounding slopes.
The service over, the place was transformed as the mourners unveiled themselves and joined in the wake - splendid food and Unterhaltung in the Jurgens Gasthof. The shops opened their doors once again as everything returned to normality just as though nothing had ever happened.
Schnipfler bought a daily Zeitung and returned to his Gasthaus a couple of kilometres out of the village, set in the midst of a farm. After a quick shower he settled himself down to read his paper. The report of the Thai environment minister's missing family triggered off an alarm at the back of his mind, causing him to delve into the back editions he had saved over the past two weeks that he had been staying there. He began searching until he found the other articles he had remembered reading. 'I thought so,' he murmured aloud, 'this is more than a coincidence - yes - there is a definite connection - that I am certain of. Something very peculiar is most certainly going on.' He was unaware that the funeral he had witnessed that afternoon was of Austria’s own representative appointed to attend the congress at their capital.
That evening, after sampling yet another Austrian culinary delight, he returned to his room and dialled a number in Amsterdam.

Steve 'Misty' Foggle was invalided out of the Vietnam war but not before he learnt how to outwit the Vietcong and beat them at their own game. The war may have been lost but his platoon usually won battles. His own platoon members held the lieutenant in high esteem and felt protected in his presence, but alas, one day, only three of the men survived as the ground of the jungle opened up in front of B Platoon who were mown down by machine-gun fire and grenades. It happened so suddenly - one minute only the natural sounds of the rain forest, the rustling of the foliage and twittering of birds, then all hell was let loose. B Platoon's scouts had failed to locate the hidden entrances to the labyrinth of tunnels and quarters that laced the depths of the jungle - entire villages thrived under the earth, completely undetected, including hospitals and schools. Misty, a sergeant and a corporal were leading the platoon and had been sufficiently in advance of the rest as to be able to conceal themselves on hearing the first sounds of the ambush - the gunfire was one-sided, it was no use their running back, there was little they could do to help, so they hastily climbed a convenient tree from where they could see what was happening. Normality was restored after the bodies had been searched and anything of value and weapons removed - then Charlie returned to their subterranean abode.
The onlookers in the trees felt so impotent, unable to help their fellow soldiers but they made a mental note of the position of the fox holes. 'Right, sir,' said Chalky White after they had met up at the base of Misty's tree, 'let's give them hell, we've ample ammunition between us to pay them back.'
'No, Chalky,' Misty reprimanded, 'do you realise how many miles of tunnels there are under here?' he asked rhetorically, 'it would be as effective as throwing snowballs at them. It will also tell them that there are more of us around and they won't let us off the hook, that's for certain and I for one don't want to be around for a repeat performance either.'
'What do we do then, sir?' Chalky asked, suitably convinced by Misty's vehement outburst.
'We soldier on, if you will forgive the pun under these circumstances. We should meet up with another unit hopefully - until then we take the least likely way through all this shrubbery.'
They could only hear the helicopters that whirred overhead because the canopy was so dense that only the odd ray of sun penetrated like a thin laser beam. The men progressed in arrow form with Sergeant Langley at the cusp. It was slow going and hot work making a mile in two hours. Occasionally they would meet up with a clearing or perhaps cross a track - it was in such a place that the sergeant signalled the other two to stop whilst he went to investigate what was leaning against a tree twenty yards ahead - he could make out a slight protrusion. On closing in, he was able to establish that it was a human being in uniform. He decided to wheel round and sweep in from the other side to get a better look. It was certainly American, no doubt about that from the colour of the skin - looked as though he were asleep. Checking for any tell-tale sounds, Langley moved in close. 'Poor sod's most probably exhausted - lost his platoon maybe - unless they've been wiped out too.' A gentle awakening was in order he decided, but he never knew that the poor soul was already dead because the two of them were blown to smithereens.
'Doesn't sound too good, sir,' Chalky whispered.
'Whatever the sergeant found was booby-trapped. That will certainly draw attention.' As he spoke he could see American uniforms moving about. 'Looks
as though we've found our buddies.' They both came out into the open but his words hung in the air as they realised their folly - the bodies in the American uniforms were yellow and slit-eyed, menacing in their pointing of rifles at them. They had no alternative but to lay down their arms and raise their hands.
Misty was surprised at his own tolerance level, suffering torture by day and standing neck deep in water, locked in a submerged cage at night, but still he wouldn't and couldn't give them the information they wanted.
Initially Misty and Chalky were tied to a rattan chair and asked questions politely by the wide-nosed general, two NCOs flanking each of them. The general's patience grew thin and the smile, which belied the ferocity of his eyes, disappeared. The flanking NCOs now each whipped their bare backs three lashes but they refused to speak other than uttering their name, rank and number. They were treated to a repeat performance the following day with the same result but now passing in and out of consciousness. From that day on they were deprived of food and water so that the next day with swollen tongues they were stripped and left to hang upside down from a tree in direct sun until evening when they were taken down and interrogated by a more junior officer. Their lips were swollen and cracked and their eyelids inflated as they sat tied to a chair with bowls of water placed in sight but out of reach. The general appeared again to stress the folly of their resistance offering them all the water they needed and 'home comforts' as he called them, parading naked girls in front of them, each carrying a pile of luscious fruit - if only they would change their stance.
'Look,' said Misty, 'we were the only ones to survive an ambush by your goons,' he was slapped hard across the face so that his lips split, 'I tell you, we were lost - no idea where the units are - we were looking for them ourselves - we know no more than you - probably less.' The general inclined his head and looked at the man holding a whip who responded with a couple more lashes.
The water prevented the wounds healing, just accentuating the pain. Like animals in a zoo, people came to look at them in their cages but they didn't proffer any food.
The next day there was a repeat of the stringing up ceremony but this time they were only lowered so that their hair touched the ground - the next stage of the torture began as one man took a dried elephant's penis and began pounding the soles of their feet - still to no avail.
That night there was the unusual parade of visitors and onlookers but it was well into the early hours of the morning that Misty felt a prod in the back. A girl, whom Misty had noticed the previous evening, put a finger to her mouth - Misty looked at the stick still dangling into the cage, hanging from it was a net bag of fruit. Taking hold of it he was about to eat when he stopped himself - it could well be a trap, he thought - it may well be drugged or poisoned - but the girl smiled and sampled from the bag herself as a gesture of reassurance. The stick was withdrawn and then he heard fumbling on top of the cage as the girl released the fastenings and quickly ran off into the night. Chalky who was further into the water, could not see what was happening, could only hear sounds that told of a change of fortune. After a further hour his queries were resolved when Misty appeared, unfastening his cage door so that he could ease himself out. Neither of them was yet convinced that the girl acted in good faith - it must be a trap, Misty kept saying repeatedly. ‘Perhaps they realised they were not going to get anywhere with their interrogating,’ he said, ‘and arranged our escape to save face. Perhaps they will follow us and shoot us when we get a little way.’ They couldn't be much worse off than they were in their present predicament so they decided to take a chance.
Misty and Chalky made their way south, studying the position of the sun when it was setting - they trundled along for nigh on two hours, but with unbearably sore feet from the beating together with sheer exhaustion they made little progress. Concealing themselves in a thicket they settled down for some sleep, but with backs and feet throbbing, sleep didn't come easily.
The dawn chorus aroused them - at least they were still alive even though they were much the worse for their treatment, at least no-one had followed them or shot at them, Chalky pointed out.
Unlike previous ambushes, there was a lone sniper in a tree ahead of them. By the time Misty heard the report he had been hit in the thigh. At first he thought he had run into a branch and looked down only to find blood trickling down his leg - the bullet had missed the bone and gone clean through the flesh. Whilst still trying to make out what had happened, there was a sudden thud and he found a body lying in front of him. Chalky, some feet away, had seen the flash and fired directly at it, high into a tree. Although the force of the shot had knocked the sniper to the ground, neither the bullet nor the fall had killed him. Before Misty had realised what was going on, the sniper sat up, knife in hand, and lunged into him. Out of the corner of his eye Misty saw something shiny glint in the half light and made to sidestep with the result that his already injured thigh took the brunt of the thrust and he was flung to the ground whilst the assailant had recovered his balance sufficiently to make a lunge to his unprotected heart. There was a dull popping sound and the sniper seemed to be frozen in his stance, mouth wide open stifling a scream he dropped to the ground. 'Thanks, Chalky,' Misty managed to murmur as the wounds floated him on the wings of consciousness. Chalky had moved swiftly on hearing the thud of the sniper's fall.
By the time they stumbled on friendly faces by way of C Platoon scouts, Misty had lost a good deal of blood despite Chalky's application of a tourniquet improvised from his own shirt. The injury had bought Misty out of the futile war but the following month Chalky lost his life, ironically to a sniper's bullet.

'Yes?' Misty picked up the phone but he was always reluctant to give his name until he had established the identity of the caller.
'Martin..... Green Martin,' he said, not willing to give his full name - his profile was too high.
'I should have recognised the accent - sorry, can't be too careful. How's the world treating you, or have you fallen out with it again?' he joked.
'On holiday actually.' There was a pause and then, 'Something has cropped up that looks highly suspicious to me and I may well need your expertise and advice. Can we meet? Are you free?'
'Sure, when? Where?'
'Say to-night, Frankfurt, usual place.'
'You certainly don't hang around do you? You're on - Tschus!'

The Kneipe was only an informal bar where they could blend into the patronage with anonymity - the casual meet and a snack. Schnipfler left, followed closely by Misty.
It was not long before Schnipfler was outlining the situation to his friend as they strolled on the north bank of the Main. Schnipfler waited for Misty's reaction.
'It strikes me there's definitely a connection - but this then presents us with two problems.' Good, thought Schnipfler, he's already conceded to my goading, he's counted himself in already. 'We have terrorists to seek out and remove and then we have to find the person who ordered all this terror in the first place,' opined Misty, ‘not to mention the whys and wherefores.’
'There's a third factor - of equal importance,' put in Schnipfler, 'We have little time before the congress in Vienna and somehow we have to ensure that everything goes ahead as planned.'
'I'll leave that one for you to solve, meanwhile I would like to see the press cuttings which you have obviously brought with you.' Misty did his routine check to ensure they weren't being followed.
'No-one's any reason to keep tabs on us - there's no need to keep on checking.'
'Nevertheless, it's why I'm still alive and I intend to keep it that way. By the way, where are you staying?'
‘At the Frankfurt Savoy in the Wiesenhuttenstrasse. Anyway, where are you staying?'
‘The Mainkrone, Room 217 actually.' They both laughed aloud at the thoughts of the last time they had stayed there together and were mistaken for a couple of pimps.
Misty sat on the corner of the bed reading the reports at least six times over whilst Schnipfler sat in silence in an easy chair contemplating his responsibility. Suddenly Misty slapped the papers on his hand, looked at Schnipfler and said, 'There's no way we can clear this lot up before Vienna, they're too widespread - England, Zimbabwe, Thailand, Japan - it's just not possible. A partly done job will be of no use and will be a certain recipe for disaster - it will endanger the lives of the others. Didn’t you say you were in Alpbach. I see they have just buried their own representative!'
'We still have fifteen days - I have an idea how to deal with the actual problem of Vienna but nothing we can do about it for the moment. Now, I suggest we make a start in Zimbabwe, at least there are no missing persons over there, from all accounts – yet,’ he added, ‘so we should have something solid to go on. The word 'something' belied his otherwise impeccable English, he pronounced it 'sumsink'.
'OK, but how do we know we're not going to need an army?' he joked. Little did they realise at the time how near to the truth they had come - something about many a true word spoken in jest?

Work had already begun on clearing away the debris and like a phoenix, the Foreskins' homestead began to rise out of the ashes just as Reg Dixon used to appear on his Wurlitzer in the Tower Ballroom in Blackpool. Tom had already organised a team of his faithful staff - he was popular with his men and Nkosi had always treated them well so they were quite prepared to give their lives for the Foreskin family. There was a price to pay for their work on the house - they were away from their normal tasks. As though there had been a bush telegraph system to signal it, unseen hands had been busy at work at the farm's dam.
Early next morning there was a hammering at the door of the Foreskin's temporary residence. Pieter, still partially in slumberland, staggered to the door like a drunken man only to be confronted with a trembling Tom. 'Nkosi, I do not know how to tell you - it's all my fault - I shouldn't have taken so many men away from their....'
'What is it Tom? You look as though you have seen a ghost - come in, man.' Tom's eyes quickly watered just as Pieter's had begun to grow accustomed to the daylight. 'It's, it's the cattle,' he choked.
'What about them, Tom? Out with it, I'm not going to eat you.'
'They're, they're...... all dead!'
'All dead, ALL dead? How come?'
'Well, not all, some were still writhing in pain so we had to shoot most of them.'
'What do you mean, in pain?'
'They were all poisoned - someone has put poison into the water hole - what are we going to do, Nkosi?' Pieter was known for his understanding and compassion, which was now evident in his reaction - there was no anger or bitterness – he was always quiet and tranquil in serious adversity.
Tom took Pieter to the dam and showed him what was tantamount to a holocaust. 'You needn't reproach yourself, Tom my friend, look over there - see those inflated carcasses floating in the distance? They must have been dumped in there a short while back - maybe when we were raided, maybe before - they are putrefied - that's what has poisoned the cattle, poor things. You'll have to leave the work on the bungalow because you'll have your work cut out burying that lot. It will be no use clearing the dam, there is no way that we can use that one again.' Foreskin's words were of little comfort, not that his men minded hard work, but they were just as likely to take the law into their own hands, then it would be God help any unfamiliar face found on the farm. ‘Put half your men onto starting a new water hole, my house is not so important.’
Returning to Tom's house, Pieter described what had happened and said to Penny, 'I think now that it would be wise if you take the children and lie up with my brother in Durban for a while - at least until after the congress in Vienna.'
Penny conceded that it might be a wise decision, but not to Durban. After the trauma the children had experienced, a complete change of culture could possibly be a far better cure, so she decided to take them to England, the country where she was born and bred.

CHAPTER 4

If past missions to troubled spots were an indication as to how Misty treated his vehicles, he stood no chance of renting anything with wheels even as simple as a plain push bike let alone a Land Rover which he and Martin Schnipfler were poring over in Harare. Obviously his reputation hadn't preceded him as far a field as Zimbabwe - after all it was his first and maybe last visit to the country so the dealer treated them both with more than a restrained modicum of courtesy.
Having equipped themselves with suitable transport they set about furnishing themselves with the bare necessities for a few days in the scrub. Misty's somewhat unsavoury French friend, Marcel Asher, had given him the name of a contact so that he could purchase the necessary weapons. If he were successful in his mission then the country, out of sheer gratitude, would surely reimburse him - if the other happened he wouldn't need money where he would be dispatched.
The Foreskins' farm lay north-east of Hwange National Park which covered an area comparable with Northern Ireland. Misty decided that a word with the environment minister in The president's one-party government was as good a starting place as any but unfortunately unbeknownst to the two men they had already passed the minister on the road going in the opposite direction.
On arrival, Schnipfler raised an eyebrow at the excuse for a farm house. They parked their Land Rover, double checked the locks and strolled down to the farm manager's residence. There was no response to their knocking. 'So much for our solid start,' Misty sighed but they hadn't arrived without alerting one of the boss boys who materialised out of nowhere as though they had rubbed a magic lantern, or perhaps he was a ninja in disguise. 'Can I help you?'
'We would like to see Pieter Foreskin.'
'Did you have an appointment?'
'No, but....'
'Then you can't expect to see him, he's a busy man and right now he's not here.'
'This is where he lives?'
'Yes..... and no.'
'It's like speaking to an ape,' Misty turned to Schnipfler in disgust, then to the boss boy, 'Where can we find the farm manager?'
'Right here,' a voice sounded from behind the two visitors. Misty breathed a sigh of relief believing he would get some sense out of this man anyway.
'We need to see Pieter Foreskin - we've come all the way from Germany and we thought....'
'I'm sorry, gentlemen, the Foreskins have all gone to the capital - the minister should be back this evening, can I be of any help to you? The boss boy walked off muttering some obscenities in Ndebele, leaving the visitors to explain their presence to Tom. Tom was his hospitable self and quite readily engaged in conversation and it was not long before Tom had explained the trauma the family had suffered.
'We only discovered this morning that whoever these men were,' here he boasted about killing one of them, 'they must have dumped carcasses in the dam as well - this morning I found all our cattle dead or dying. We shall never be able to use the dam again, I'm afraid. Fortunately this farm doesn't rely purely on animal stock - we have several hundred acres of maize and tobacco too. So far, no-one seems to have touched the crops as far as we can tell.' Misty stifled a whistle of surprise. 'They mean business, all the men are terrified,’ Tom went on, ‘they think these terrorists will come back and attack their families in retaliation for my killing one of them.' Then as an afterthought, 'and I may have winged one of the others too. I had a darned good try to get their car.' It was said as though he were expecting an immediate commendation.
Tom was more than accommodating, and suggested that the two men may like to roam around the farm and perhaps return to his humble accommodation where he would be more than pleased to give them a meal and any more information they may need.
As it was their first visit to Zimbabwe, the two visitors had much to learn and kept Tom in conversation for three hours, learning about survival in the scrub. It was a harrowing sight to see the farm hands tackling the mammoth task of removing the dead cattle - inside Martin Schnipfler, a sense of burning hatred for the perpetrators was fast building up and he hoped to heaven that he and Misty would have a chance of evening up the score. Learning about the country, the flora and fauna and the farm could well be of help in tracking down and dealing with these men.
Tom explained how that Harare was built on a Shona camp around a kopje. The nearest thing Schnipfler had come across to these hillocks was the English tor in the south west of the country, but Misty was none the wiser having never set foot on English soil - it took a German to explain it more clearly.
Tom's wife was certainly no oil painting but she was a warm, friendly soul wearing a flower-patterned dress that looked more like a pinafore. Misty could easily understand why Tom had chosen such a woman as she oozed a cheerful sincere personality. Her black hair, now greying at the temples, was tied back in a chignon, taking it off the forehead and giving a false impression of hardness not typically short and curly as one would normally expect. They were treated to a braai, a popular barbecue which they could scent well before they saw it. They sat under a beobob tree with its gnarled bole and curly branches that would have been a credit to any witch’s coven.
'Pieter Foreskin may suggest otherwise, but I reckon that you can't go wrong if you can track down a herd of elephants - I doubt if the men you want would be far away.' Tom then proceeded to talk about elephants and their habits, but the two visitors felt that he found these creatures a nuisance and was not the sort who would vote for the killing of elephants to be outlawed because of the damage they did on the farm. Unlike the British media's recent portrayal condemning the slaughter because they thought that the animals would soon become extinct, he thought that culling was a necessity. 'Do you know,' he went on, 'there are two distinctive ranks of bull? When it's time to visit the water hole, the young bulls go first to see that all's well then they go out into the bush and stand sentry whilst the old bulls lead the rest to drink. When they've had their fill, the old bulls lead them out then the young bulls take them off.' They talked about the value of the elephant, 'We indigenes enjoy the flesh, in particular the liver which we eat raw, Tom went on.' Schnipfler's stomach did a somersault and then he silently gave thanks that they had only eaten cooked meat - but he wondered if it had been elephant meat. As though Tom had read his thoughts he said, 'You'd soon know if you'd eaten elephant meat. I've eaten it after it's been cooked for over a week and still it was tough and tasted vile.'
'When I think of African countries,' Misty chipped in, 'I imagine a mass of burnt grass and dryness everywhere - but look at the place, it's not like that at all.'
'You would be correct, many parts of Africa are like that but there is very much lush greenery here - the average rainfall is in the region of seventy-five centimetres a year which all falls around November or December and continues to March. Have you ever seen a jacarinda tree?' he suddenly asked.
'No,' said Schnipfler, 'but I've read about them.'
'Ah, but no book can describe the beauty of what we call the flame tree with its orange and red flowers. Later they turn to purple - We haven’t any on the estate but I hope you will have the chance of seeing one in full bloom before you leave the country.'
We don't plan on staying that long,' Schnipfler said. Just then they heard a car door slam and the minister appeared looking very tired but he perked up and showed genuine welcome when he was introduced to the two visitors but until he had established the credentials of his guests, Pieter Foreskin exercised caution but there was still fear in his eyes.
'Don't worry, we're here to help you,' Schnipfler tried to reassure him but even then he was sceptical and was still reserved as he chatted with these strangers. He told them he'd sent his family away for safety but he gave no hint as to where they were. They talked amicably for some time and the two men began to like the minister as he began to thaw out and he in turn was beginning to feel at ease and safer with them around. They outlined details of the Vienna convention to Tom, explaining that there was a force at work determined to prevent it going ahead - it seemed to have been organised on a world-wide basis as some countries involved were more drug-orientated whereas others were more concerned about the protection of whales and elephants.
'At least we are nearby should you need us,' said Misty and presented the minister with a spare RT to keep in touch - if you are too far away to reach us you can summon up help in an emergency. Foreskin said that they were welcome to stay with him.
'We need to acclimatise ourselves to living out in the scrub,' Misty insisted, 'thanks anyway but we need to get used to sounds, seeing in the dark, learning to exist without giving away our presence by smell.' Schnipfler had much to learn if they were to survive when the going became tough.
Foreskin concurred that to start with a search for an elephant herd was possibly the best opening and made arrangements for a friend of his to pick up the two of them in his helicopter the next morning after they had gathered together all the equipment they would need including an arsenal of weapons to meet all possible contingencies and adequate rations to span a period of three weeks. They had many offers of help but Misty knew from experience that for a task like this, additional bodies would be much more of a hindrance if not a positive danger.
The next twelve hours or so were spent on the estate. By the time they left Foreskin, the men were confident their presence had now given comfort to the environment minister and once word had travelled round the workers on the bush telegraph the farm workers as well.
Misty thought it pertinent that Schnipfler should take on the role of leader, he would soon put him right if he slipped up. 'Remember, it's a simple thing overlooked that could be the death of both of us.'
Within an hour of setting out into the scrub, Schnipfler signalled that he had found a suitable area to stop and so they began to make a fire. After a quick meal and a meander around the farm they turned in for the night, Schnipfler placed himself near the fire. 'That's your first mistake, Mart'n, a fire attracts attention, so you should never sleep near it - you may never wake up again,' Misty reprimanded in a friendly but assertive manner. 'Neither does one smoke - it's not just the smell that carries but you would be surprised how far away the glow from the tip of it can be seen at night.'
'I don't smoke, you ought to know that.'
'Just reminding myself really, or perhaps you may find yourself having to educate a naive smoker, you never know.' At that moment there was a coughing sound, alerting Misty whose ears were now akimbo like a dog's. By now the men had already moved away from the fire and concealed themselves inside some innocent looking acacia scrub so that they could keep the fire and its surrounds in sight. The distinct sound of rustling drew nearer. Misty grabbed hold of his M16 automatic rifle which he had to hand, held it steady - it was too much of a give-away to release the safety catch, he was trained to combine that action with pulling the trigger in one movement. Schnipfler began to look worried, training his eyes from one extremity of his vision panning across to the other and slowly back again – ‘Over there!’ There was a dark patch that wasn't there a moment ago - he touched Misty on the arm and pointed. They waited - the visitor must now surely realise that there was no-one around the fire - what would be their next move? As the black blur began to move, Misty followed it with his rifle, patient, still but alert - then he relaxed and lowered his weapon and began to laugh. 'For goodness sake!' Schnipfler shouted a whisper but then he too began to chuckle as the form took on the shape of a cow that was by now making a snorting sound as it started sniffing and investigating the area. 'I thought there were no cattle left,' Schnipfler said.
'It must have found water elsewhere - perhaps it's the sole survivor of the herd.'
So that the poor creature could not possibly stray over to the dam and poison itself, the two set about catching it which, to anyone watching, would have provided comic entertainment somewhat akin to a Laurel and Hardy film. Eventually, worn out and breathless, they tethered the animal to a baobob tree. They had no problems sleeping that night.
The last time Misty experienced a ride in a helicopter he swore he would never set foot in one again - it was three years ago in the Amazon region of Brazil:
The talks had begun peacefully enough - vital plant-life was fast dying out, many of them containing substances unexplored by man like the British acorn whose acid has interested scientists for some years. For lack of a better nomenclature they call it acornic acid. Trees were being hewn down at an alarming rate - the destruction in the Amazon forests was becoming horrendous and escalating at an alarming rate. Someone had to make these people see sense as whole rain forests were disappearing, changing the whole course of nature. These people were like ruthless gangsters - they just didn't care - to hell with the future generations, they thought, the present was the important thing - the pure greed and selfishness of man. To these people the solution to all problems was to resort to force rather than negotiate amicably around a table. That's exactly what was happening - resorting to fisticuffs, then others joined in, then came the weapons. 'Get out of here or we'll blow your brains out,' they had yelled as Schnipfler's team took to their heels and made for the helicopter.
That should have been the end of it - at least for the time being - but not so. As soon as the helicopter took off they started firing at it, even throwing stones. One bullet pierced the fuselage, another went straight through the pilot's temple and the helicopter just fell out of the sky like a falling rock, killing one of Schnipfler's colleagues. He and Terry Walsh, another member of the team, scrambled out dazed, cut and bruised - then the chase was on - a dozen armed thugs began to comb the forest for them. The propellers had become entangled in the trees but the weight of the fuselage eventually severed the link with them and it fell nose first to the ground burying itself in the foliage.
The odds against Schnipfler and Walsh evading the enraged men were stacked high, first because of the very ratio of six to one and secondly because neither of the men had any experience of survival in jungle conditions. Ironically it was a tree stump that saved Schnipfler's life, for as he fell, a hail of bullets tore though the air where his body would have been. The failing light also helped the two fugitives who climbed trees and concealed themselves from their already jaded pursuers who had by now decided to call it a day before the light failed altogether.
Clambering down to earth again, the two environmentalists warily plodded on until they stumbled across a small river where they found a log raft that had jammed itself in a culvert. Wrenching it free they took a chance on the fast-flowing current and let it carry them down stream. Once the moon had shed its clouded cover it remained a guiding light. They must have travelled at least two miles before the submarine eddies whirled the raft to the bank, fortunately in the nick of time as the weir, only a hundred metres further on, would have engulfed them ensuring a watery grave for the pair. Walsh reached out and grabbed a protruding branch, which was just strong enough to stem their impetus and enable them to scramble onto land.
Exhausted from their physical exertions, they each found a bole of a tree where they fell asleep, but that wasn't the end of their troubles. At sunrise, Schnipfler rose to arouse Walsh and was about to shake him when he froze. Curled in his partner's lap was a tree snake which had slithered down whilst he slept and buried its fangs in the man's throat. 'Well, my friend,' Schnifpler said aloud in nervous reaction, 'at least you didn't feel anything - you just didn't wake up - what a way to go.'

Schnipfler stood by the side of the chopper visibly shaking uncontrollably - if he took the plunge he would no doubt master the fear but he just couldn't put a foot forward. Misty was already aboard waving him in but he only stood there staring. 'Hell man, what's come over you, for goodness sake, get your ass in this damn machine and let's go.' His words fell on deaf ears as Schnipfler stood there transfixed, oblivious of anyone or anything else - memories brought action replays, frame by frame in slow motion, of the traumatic crash. Misty leapt out of the machine and bodily picked up Schnipfler, pack as well, and hefted him inside. He had seen a similar case of severe vertigo in Vietnam when he just had to clobber a private cold before they could get him inside. Once they were airborne, the fear subsided and Schnipfler reacted as though nothing had happened.
The sound of the helicopter stirred up a troop of giraffes as though their heads would have been sliced off had they stayed. It was a spectacular sight - at least thirty of them leaping for safety, their lank bodies trailing their outstretched necks. The pilot decided to take a circle of a mile radius, spiralling inwards, then another circle and so on until on the fifth stretch, having moved inwards a quarter of a mile, he caught sight of about eighty elephants moving south east. 'If you can put us down about a mile ahead of that lot, that will do us fine,' Misty called to the pilot. 'It's a start anyway.' He turned to Schnipfler, 'we've no other lead to go on.'
The climate was not conducive to hefting around the amount of gear the two carried. 'Let's have a drink and lighten our load,' Schnipfler suggested, really to calm himself down after the flight more than anything else for it had more effect on him than he would care to admit. They found themselves a spot in the shade of a wild fig and took out a Windhoek. 'Ugh!' came the expletive from the American, 'just like the British warm beer!' but Schnipfler ignored the comment and carried on swigging lustily.
'I say we move in closer to the herd and then try to get ahead of them,' Misty suggested, 'maybe we can pick up the tracks of the hunters.'
'If there are any,' Schnipfler replied cynically, 'why not wait - if there are poachers, they'll be keeping abreast of the herd - we're just as likely to spot them here as anywhere - what's the use of lugging this lot around unnecessarily?'
'Yeah, maybe you're right, but just suppose they don't come this way?'
'I'll lay a mark to a maggot they do - unless something or someone changes their mind for them.'
'You know, Martin, I've got this uncanny feeling that there's someone around here - In Nam I always proved myself right and saved my ass many a time because of my sixth sense.'
They looked around for somewhere suitable to stash their load but Misty was reluctant to become separated from it for he felt the invisible eyes on him and feared for its safety. Schnipfler accidentally stumbled upon a cleft in the rock that was secreted behind the trunk of an acacia just as he went to relieve himself. 'Here,' he shouted, 'this is ideal,' but before stashing away their equipment they each extracted a pistol and knife.
'I tell you, someone is watching us, Mart'n,' Americans never pronounce the second syllable in that name. Where possible they lengthen vowels where the British use short and shorten the ones they lengthen, they have denigrated the English language shamelessly and now the British are stupid enough to copy them.
They agreed to split up and scour the area. They had barely parted when Schipfler spotted the spoor. 'Psst!'
'What's up?'
'Look - you're right, no shoes either, just one of them by the looks of it and recent too. Let's track him,' he whispered. They seemed to be going around in circles and then the spoor evaporated. 'Either he's been wiping his tracks or he's been leading us up the garden path.'
'Or maybe up a tree,' Misty was recollecting the days in the Vietnamese jungle only too vividly. 'He must have been prying when he heard the chopper. OK, radio silence,' he joked. Suddenly Schnipfler was on his knees with an ear to the ground. Not far away, he thought as he detected the languid thud of the advancing herd. Misty had a job to control his laughter at the sight of his friend, arse in the air, who then beckoned him to follow in the direction of the oncoming animals.
It was a while before they picked up the human spoor again. Misty began to wonder who were the head hunters and who the hunted, then he held his revolver in his right hand at the ready. Schnipfler gestured as he caught sight of the leading animals and Misty broke their silence. 'If there are any poachers, we should find out in the next few minutes,' he murmured.
'Do you know how they trap elephants? Quite simply by surrounding them,' he answered himself, 'so we're looking for considerably more people than a loan hunter.' After a pause, Schnipfler had to own up. 'I must come clean - I knew the elephants would come this way because there's a water hole just the other side of that kopje - I saw it from the helicopter.' Then he added, 'and I thought you were the observant one!'
'Well here's a test for you then old buddy. Lead me back to where we hid our gear.'
'OK - no problem,' Schnipfler bluffed, 'follow me!'
An hour later they were hopelessly lost - at least Schnipfler was and had to concede the fact to his partner. 'OK clever guy, you get us out of this mess - I bet you can't do it either.'
'I'm at a disadvantage - this starting point is much further out than where we began an hour ago,’ he said confidently, ‘and still I'll find it for you,' then as an adjunct seconds later, 'in the dark as well - or blindfolded if you prefer,' he joked, rubbing in the fact that this was no bluff.
Within the quarter hour they were standing in front of the hideout. 'Pity I didn't make a bet with you!'
'All right - point taken. I suppose the loser has to drag out our stuff,' and with that he disappeared into the cleft. 'Hey, Misty, come here!' he yelled, 'someone's been here.' Misty ran in and noticed the disarray - their gear had very obviously been searched.
'Let's drag it out and check if anything's missing,' Schnipfler suggested. They each scrutinised their packs.
'Well, let's hope we don't have to be out here too long,' Misty complained, 'some of my food's disappeared.
'Mine too,' added Schnipfler. 'At least I can say that we are fairly safe, he's not taken any weapons or ammunition - which really confirms that he is not one of the poachers.'
'Unless he's got enough weapons already. Possibly it’s some loner short of food.'
They looked around for tell-tale signs but whoever it was had covered his tracks well.
'He won't get far carrying that amount of food so he will have stashed it away somewhere,' Misty signified, 'it's no use our trying to locate it, he obviously knows this area like the back of his hand.'
Hungry now the two men opened some bully beef and beans which they washed down with a can of Windhoek. 'We won’t be able to dine in style like this for too long if we are to make the food last so let's savour the taste and be thankful for small mercies,' the soldier stated. 'You know, I bet that N..bloody..Bogowogo, or whatever his name is, is watching us right now.' Schnipfler went goose-pimpled at the thought of it, then Misty stood up and yelled, 'You haven't the guts to show yourself, you ape!'
'And he's likely to understand every word,' Schnipfler was sarcastic after his friend had finished his outburst. 'You may have just as well run to the top of the kopje and yelled it at the top of your voice - with a loud hailer. If he wasn't watching us before, he certainly is now!'
'Yea, sorry Mart'n, you're right of course, I've just had it with him stealing our food and playing cat and mouse.'
'And we can complain? Isn't that what we're trying to do with him? It's just that he's winning - that's what's bugging you - and no leads!'
They returned to their gear. Misty just couldn't credit what Schnipfler did next. He delved into his backpack and pulled out a walkman and a pair of headphones which he promptly donned, closed his eyes and translated himself into another world - completely gone out. Neither man spoke for three quarters of an hour when Schnipfler opened his eyes, a serene expression of pleasure on his face, and put away his player. 'You know there's nothing like a spot of music for restoring one's sanity and recharging the batteries. Music is like a train journey, you know, it travels through exotic passages, changes its speed and rhythm until it finally arrives at the end of its journey, wondrously fulfilled.'
'What were you listening to, dare I ask - some knee slapping oompah band, no doubt.' Misty wasn't sure what sort of a reply to expect.
'This - is my special calming down tape I put together myself - for just such moments as this - slow movements of some of the world's outstanding concerti - Bruch, Mahler, Rachmaninov, Mendelssohn, Mozart, Beethoven to name but a few'
'And you listened to that lot in that time?'
'No, no, of course not, just a selection - my special pack as I call it, has three cassettes which I always take with me on a journey. There are others too - ones that stimulate me when I'm feeling lethargic.' Misty could now both see and hear the effect of the music on this remarkable man. 'Can't be all bad,' he muttered to no-one in particular and then turned to his friend again. 'Are you sure you wouldn't like to get out your easel and start painting,' Misty said ironically.
'Well, I do have a small sketch pad with me - you never know when you're going to need one in my line of duty.' Misty just couldn't believe what he was hearing.
Whilst Schnipfler could not find the need to relieve himself because in such heat all his liquid came through his pores, Misty found that having acclimatised himself to jungle conditions in Vietnam, his body functioned normally in extreme heat so he stood up and wandered away whilst his buddy recovered from his state of euphoria, but he unexpectedly stumbled on a peeping Tom who fled as soon as he saw the man approaching him. 'Hey you, come here!' he yelled and then gave chase. Once again, the alacrity of the man showed that he was no beginner at this cat and mouse lark - he was a survivor. Suddenly Misty was swallowed into a black void as the man sprung out at him from nowhere and clubbed the soldier on the back of the neck. The native was lithe for such a big man and quickly hoisted Misty, slung him over his shoulder and ran off with him.
As Misty stirred, the man cradled his head as he lay against the bole of a wild fig and gave him something bitter to drink, which he spat out as he spluttered and started to cough. The native gestured that it was all right to drink. Although the liquid eased the pain, Misty felt as though he'd taken a quadruple Whisky followed by a quadruple vodka. This man had no intention of giving the soldier a chance to overpower him.
After an hour, Schnipfler began to get concerned at his friend's absence but he assumed that Misty had picked up the spoor and was following it. On this assumption, he once again packed away the gear and tried to raise him on the RT radio.
The native was mystified at the sounds emanating from his captive's pocket, causing him to jump up and step away. Cautiously he edged nearer the sound and when he had plucked up enough courage, he put his hand in Misty's pocket and extracted the speaking box, which he dropped as though it were burning hot. He stared at it whilst it still kept speaking to him - he couldn't understand how anyone could possibly be inside such a small contraption.
Misty turned his head towards the sound but he was helpless to do anything. All he could see was a blur. The native began to get annoyed and started jumping on the black box but it hurt his foot so he picked it up and hurled it at the bole of a nearby tree. The voice was suddenly silent which seemed to please the man. He regarded the box contumely and then set his mind on the other man - he knew there were two of them because he had kept a close eye on them all day. There was no doubting it - he would soon locate him wherever he was - there are so many ways a man can give himself away, not least by his smell, something the average person is unaware of. He had to find his white man before he found him. Schnipfler was no expert even though he had always proved to be a pretty good survivor. The native dragged Misty into full cover and gave him a little more to drink to ensure he wouldn't move away. These faces were new to him and so we wasn't entirely certain that they would be hostile, but he had to assume that they were for the time being so he had to keep them alive until he could be sure.
Having already been embarrassed at not being able to find his way back to their equipment, Schnipfler made sure it wouldn't happen a second time and learnt from Misty's advice which he gave the German as he showed him how to locate the hiding place. He remembered too about not sleeping around a fire, but he was at a loss where to look for his pal. Perhaps he didn't take his own advice and became lost - perhaps he had an accident - perhaps, perhaps, like the indomitable 'if only', it was no consolation to the environmentalist and furthermore he would lose track of the elephants. Maybe a fire would bring him back - he would see the smoke, and then...... The smoke was spotted sure enough, but not by Misty, it just made the native's task that much easier. He bided his time, knew he must drink. He watched him, gauged that he had drunk no more than a third of his can and lured him away with his deliberate deceit, and when Schnipfler moved away he picked up the can, tipped away half of the remaining contents and poured in his own concoction.
Schnipfler thought his drink unusually bitter - 'must be a poor batch,' he heard himself mutter, 'it's still darned good Windhoek, though,' he smiled, 'straight to my head.' He slithered to the ground but couldn't, didn't want to sit up. The native had had no difficulty in rendering him unconscious, picked him up and ran off with him in the same manner that he had hefted Misty and placed him next to him but neither was in a state of mind to be aware of the presence of the other. The native returned to their equipment and took out a rope, bound the two men and let his potion wear off.
It was some hours before the two were fully percipient, despite the pure soothing water the native had administered to them frequently.
'This is all we need, a hostile native who doesn't speak our lingo,' Misty whispered to Schnipfler as they became more aware, 'do you think he's regarding us as his supper?'
'Of course not, they're not like that in this part of the globe, don't worry, but don't get too excited just yet, he'll just as likely kill us if he thinks we pose a threat.'
'Great! Got any ideas how we can convince him we're friendly?'
Food was brought and left for the men but hungry though they were they were afraid to eat in case he had doctored that too. Sensing their reticence he picked up the food, which he had placed between them, ate some himself, smiled and then motioned for the others to eat, uttering words of assurance in Ndebele. Their stomachs, affected both by hunger and the drugged drink, could not accommodate much so they just took enough to maintain their strength. Suddenly Schipfler remembered their RTs. 'You have one,' said Misty, 'mine's gone. Ogobogo threw it at a tree and that was the end of that. Anyway, don't take yours out or he'll do the same with that. I expect he's afraid of it.'
Schnipfler managed to work his hands into his side pocket and manipulate the RT whilst the native wandered off into the sun.
'We're much too far away to raise Foreskin,' Misty sounded apathetic. 'There's no harm in hoping we'll alert someone nearby. Hell, we've sure got to try to get out of here. 'Have a go, buddy!'
Although it was about ten minutes, it seemed an hour before they heard a voice through the static. Schnipfler raised an eyebrow and flicked the transmit button. 'Mayday, Mayday, can anyone hear me?' he repeated.
'I copy, identify yourself and give location, what's the problem, over,' came the raucous voice. Misty's face lit up as he heard the man and leaned over to Schnipfler to speak into the RT, identifying himself and giving a brief description of their location. They had attracted the attention of a patrol vehicle on the reserve. 'Look, do any of you guys speak Ndebele? For God's sake get us out of this darned mess, some cannibal has trussed us up like a turkey - hell knows what he's going to do with us - we can't communicate.'
'OK, OK man, just hold on. I reckon we're about nine miles from you - there are two of us here and we both speak Ndebele and English - you're in luck. Be with you within the hour.'
'Hour? What are you driving, a turtle?' Misty wished he hadn't made that remark, after all he was in no position to be flippant. 'I'm sorry, forget that last remark; guess I didn't mean it. I'm going to switch off now before Man Friday comes back.'
'You do have a way with words,' Schnipfler croaked, 'we'll be lucky if they don't help this man to eat us.'
Covering the nine miles was no problem, it was finding the bound couple that took the time. Meanwhile the native returned with a wart hog, which he dumped on the ground. 'Well, that should dispel your fears of being eaten,' Schnipfler comforted. There was a big grin on the native's face as he proceeded to cut open the animal.
'Sh!' said Misty, 'Listen!'
'Voices!'
The native picked up the animal and hid himself amidst the foliage. If he'd seen them coming he would have fled far further afield at the sight of the ugly looking weapons they carried. Fortunately the two men soon found the captives. Schnipfler gave a quick account of who they were, what they were doing and how they came to be in their present predicament. The taller of the two started searching around and calling out something in Ndebele. 'I take it an interpreter wouldn't be unwelcome,' the smaller one spoke and couldn't help laughing at the sight of the two bound men. He withdrew a knife and relieved them of their fetters.
When the two rangers heard the full explanation, the taller man, who seemed to be in charge, was quite willing to loan them the use of the interpreter for as long as the visitors wanted for he was only too pleased to have someone rid them of the plague of poachers who had been such an evasive force that had eluded them for many months now.
The senior ranger took his leave, almost running into Man Friday. He waved his weapon at them and returned with him to the others. Now they could at least have a conversation that would be mutually beneficial.
It appeared that the native's name was Njoro, who believed that Schnipfler and Misty were associated with the poachers and the demise of his father who was head man of the village and had seen a white man and some Shona descend out of a noisy metallic bird with revolving wings as it disgorged its bowels. Over a period of three weeks they slaughtered every animal in sight. The place was alive one minute and then there was only the sound of the birds. One night, after tracking the men relentlessly for three weeks, Njoro's father stealthily slinked into the tents and stole their arsenal of hunting weapons and concealed them in the same spot where the two visitors had stashed their equipment.
The following morning, the hunt centred on human prey as they sought the perpetrator of the theft. They caught Njoro's father and tortured him to reveal where he had hidden their weapons. Njoro had tried to warn his parents of these men but it was too late - he watched helplessly as they were dragged to some rocks where they gouged out his mother's eyes, and then with a knife, started to peel the skin off her body like paring an apple. It was too much for Njoro's father - he told them where he had concealed their weapons - but that wasn't the end of it.
'Kill them both,' the white man commanded callously, whereupon they gashed their abdomens, leaving them to die a slow painful death. As the vultures swooped in, Njoro swore that he would avenge his parents and so he followed the white man and his giant Shona henchmen relentlessly. Then one day he couldn't believe his eyes.
As he hid behind a baobob tree, he saw the ground open up before his eyes and a truck, looking like a military vehicle with its camouflage, appeared out of the earth. Njoro shook with fear. These men were no ordinary poachers, and their business was far bigger than natives selling ivory and meat.
Senderai, the ranger, listened with interest and disbelief, his mouth falling open revealing his stubs of brown teeth. He remained transfixed throughout Njoro's story, hypnotised by the words of this young native. 'Where is the opening in the ground?' he asked eventually.
'I can only take you near to the spot, I can't pinpoint it because it is entirely concealed by living trees and scrub. I have searched for tell-tale marks but they have been swept away. I have seen no-one enter or leave since. The white man then left in his metal bird twelve days after he killed my parents. He did not kill them himself, he just stood there watching as he ordered his men to do it for him.'
Njoro was only too pleased to join the men himself to hunt down the perpetrators and was so happy that someone else was going to help him, at least he would get a chance to avenge his parents' horrific death now. Senderai considered it his duty to help these crusaders too and to act as their interpreter.
'We don't know what is kept underground, and we have no idea of the strength of these poachers, terrorists,' Misty corrected himself, ‘maybe it's a store for their ivory. We must therefore split up and take shifts. Njoro said he saw them come out of the ground. Schnipfler and Senderai, you take the day shifts and Njoro and I will take the night.'
Not wishing to advertise their presence, they did not light a fire and had to make do with cold food. With their numbers now doubled, they had to skimp even more on their rations, but the other ranger promised to return with more provisions within the next day or so. From their private arsenal, Misty selected a pistol to arm each of the Ndebele, whilst he and Schnipfler used their M16 machine rifles on their watch.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully until the night watch when Misty and Njoro found themselves in a rather embarrassing situation.
It was shortly after midnight that Misty and Njoro heard a dull rumbling sound. Njoro put his ear to the ground and signalled to Misty who was not ten feet away, to do likewise. The ground began to shake inexorably and then the two men found themselves being hoisted in the air. Both lay prostrate, well concealed, but they were utterly stranded. Misty was so anxious that he and Schnipfler each took charge of the respective shifts that he had forgotten he had allocated to himself the one person with whom he couldn't communicate. Fortunately they were not entirely devoid of communication as Misty managed to make himself understood by using hand signals.
There followed a sound of a regular beat as though the earth below were being pounded by some prehistoric monster. The noise grew louder when suddenly Misty realised what was happening. His eyes confirmed what he thought - a battalion of soldiers emerged from the bowels of the earth.


CHAPTER 5

Pui Phanit took one look at the gory digits and fled into the house screaming. In no time at all she gathered her belongings and left the house just as hastily.
Still sobbing she picked up the parcel, returned to the house and put it on the table in the kitchen and then made her way to her room. She needed to lie down for a while and think.
Her little room was painted a pale lotus colour with everything in the room to match so that no-one entering could fail to notice that this was a little girl’s room. The curtains were topped by a frilly palmate, whilst the rattan chair bore a fringe in the same material. The bed cover depicted a huge lotus blossom in the centre of a rose-tinted background bordered with lotus leaves. In the centre of the room was an old-fashioned fan reminiscent of such oriental establishments as Singapore's Raffles, which has retained its huge fan despite its forty-nine million pound face-lift and modernisation that included an arcade of some sixty shops.
It was the slowly rotating fan that caused her to stop in her tracks and let out an ear-piercing scream. Suspended from the fan and rotating slowly with it was her cat skewered from the throat to anus, drops of blood finding her lotus prayer mat, peppering it with deep red blotches. She fell on her bed and buried her face in her pillow, tears darkening its pallor. She wept convulsively then just as suddenly stopped, sat up and lent an ear to the movement she could hear downstairs. It could be the amah returning, she thought, her conscience must have prevailed upon her to venture downstairs. She called out, but there was no reply. Fear began to well up inside her again at the realisation of the horrific possibilities that could be awaiting her there: someone else was in the house. She looked around for something to help defend herself against attack should it be an intruder and perhaps the stranger might rape her too, but there was little of substance to hand in which to protect herself against any assailant.
Silently slipping into her bedroom she scoured around for a suitable weapon and then saw a small metal Buddha lying on the table in a narrow alcove. She weighed up the sacrilege against using such a figure for a weapon but decided her life was more important and so grabbed hold of it and made her way downstairs. 'I have a gun!' she called out hoping that whoever was there would flee quickly. Something caught her attention; there was movement reflected in the mirror. Then she saw the face with massive features set on a herculean body, almost like a sumo wrestler. A man that size should be slow, she thought, I could make a dash for it and maybe get away. Then he spoke in a quiet but firm voice as she recognised the uniform. ‘My name is Kasemsri,' he affirmed. How apt, she thought, he certainly looks like a mountain. 'The king himself has sent me to protect you - it came to his notice that you have a problem.' Am I glad he's on my side, she mused and then relaxed, lowering the Buddha to her side and tears of relief began to slide down her delicate cheeks as she related the recent events to him. Then she stiffened again and grasped the statue as something stirred at the back of her mind and started to trouble her. How could King Bhumibol possibly know of her plight?
'Now wait a minute,' she began, 'how could the king possibly know that I am in need of protection?' Then she reproached herself for being so open about her fear and recent events, but she was too late. The man struck like a leopard, clawing at her, snatching her up in his bear-like arms.
In her momentary fear, Pui contemplated the girth of this huge man. She now had ascertained in her mind that she was going to have to accommodate him in her petite body, exacerbating the fear as he held her firm with one arm whilst he removed the Buddha from her grip with the other. Imagine her disbelief as he suddenly relaxed his hold on her. 'I'm sorry, minister, but I really thought for a minute that you were going to attack me with this,' he apologised as he placed the ersatz weapon on a nearby chair. A smile blossomed on Pui's face.
'You really are the king's guard, then!' she exclaimed rhetorically.
'It was the police chief who contacted the palace and expressed his concern about you. The king has taken a personal interest.' The guard looked at the gory package and said, 'I'll get rid of this for you, minister,' and proceeded to dispose of the ugly mess. 'I....I... should be grateful if you would remove the ugly sight in my room too,' Pui requested pleadingly. The misunderstandings over, she told of her fear because she had informed the police about her missing family before she had received the instructions. 'They will make reparations in some way - they hold my family and there is nothing that either of us can do.'
'Do not fear, minister, the police have taken no action so it is unlikely that these criminals will know that you have contacted them.'
'I must go and prepare a room for you in which to sleep.'
'No, minister, I shall not sleep on duty. When night comes a colleague of mine will relieve me and I shall return again in the morning.'

Dan slept little that night and kept going over and over again the events of the day to see if he could deduce something from the tangle. Each time he thought of a solid fact he would write it down and tabulate the information with cross-references but there were too many insurmountable brick walls. He tried not to let his emotions dominate the essence of rationality he had managed to display. 'Why do they need to be in this country?' he asked himself, 'why couldn't they keep them in England?' There was a reason for this but he could not grasp it; he was sure he'd missed an important ingredient somewhere along the line. 'Perhaps they won't stop here but move on to another country. They're going to make sure we're all in Vienna together,' he surmised. 'That's it, it has to be - and they intend keeping a close watch on me all the way - but why such a team for a relatively small outcome? There has to be something else.' Then he realised that after their warnings he wouldn’t be expected to go to Vienna. It was too much of an enigma, even for his brilliant mind.
Unlike Garee, Dan was a person who needed a full eight hours of sleep or else he felt like a major dung heap the next day so it was not surprising that Garee found him to be lethargic the next morning. Fortunately he knew his friend well enough to know his idiosyncrasies and was quite tolerant of his frivolous behaviour. 'Don't worry, my friend, I only jest.' He wasn't one of those people who would try to disguise a serious dig in a cocoon of humour. How attitudes have changed since World War II when you knew who your enemies were most of the time, or at least where they were, and you could confront them. Nowadays it's all underhand guerrilla tactics, a sneaky car bomb or perhaps explosives concealed in a parcel. So too are the innuendoes that creep into family life, wedging husband and wife apart. Remarks made aloud by passers-by are made to stun the person at whom they are directed, but if you were to tackle the perpetrator, they would deny that the remarks were directed at them, ‘you must have a guilty conscience’ they would say. Such underhanded nastiness has even been known in British schools at Christmas time in establishments where an internal postal system had been set up to encourage pupils to send cards to each other and to staff in order to save the cost of postage. Some schools charge one pence a card for charity. It was an ideal opportunity for pupils opposed to authority or with any other kind of grudge - they used the system to abuse staff with unpleasant notes whilst remaining anonymous. How does one cope with this underhanded warfare? No-one could silence the IRA, ETA or other terrorist groups who were dab hands at such warfare – a couple of many such groups who continue to commit such atrocities. Undercover-agents infiltrating the corruptive system can only bring to light few at a time, that is if they have not had their cover blown beforehand. Garee had heard Dan voice all this on so many previous occasions, but what else could he say?
The continental breakfast stimulated Dan - a full glass of freshly squeezed orange, what luxury, he thought. I wonder why Clare doesn't do that. The coffee was black and strong which helped to bring a little life back into the inert body and befuddled head. 'Let's walk into the city, it might help awaken me,' he suggested. Just then the proprietor came up to him, 'Mr Tindale, there’s a telephone call for you.'
'For me? But no-one knows I'm here.'
'Dan Tindale? I am just ringing to remind you that we still hold your family, just in case you had the wrong impression when you saw them. They are all well and to prove it, I'm putting your wife on to tell you herself.'
'Dan? Dan, is that you darling? We're all right - just do as they ask - please, for the children's sake. We'll be on the Dussel.....,' then there was a click as the phone was put down the other end.
'Hello........hello..... Clare..... are you there?' Silence. 'Where are you? Hello..... Damn!' he cursed.
'Good news?' Garee asked afterwards.
'Only that Clare and the kids are all right. "Just do as they say," she said then she tried to tell me something - "we'll be in the Dussel..." then she was cut off. It's obvious that she was going to say Dusseldorf, but what else? Dusseldorf's directly east from here. Perhaps she's on the way there now.'
'Did you notice any background noises? Was the call from a box?' Garee asked.
'Not that I was aware of - no, I don't think so.'
'I think perhaps the keyword is "on",' Garee suggested.
'In that case it could be an autobahn - a means of transport perhaps. With the lack of background noise I'll plump for the latter. So what choices do we have?'
'Remember, you saw the children in a car, so it is unlikely that it will be a Dusseldorf flight or train and we're inland. Wait a minute now.... Dusseldorf's on the Rhine, there's a cruise line called the Dusseldorfer - a break in the journey perhaps to keep the children happy. What do you think?'
'Anything's worth a try - but why a Rhine trip - when? We could already be too late.'
Dan asked for a map of Germany as he settled the bill. 'It all depends when they board - if they board.'
They set off immediately having decided on a route to take them through Ghent, skirting Brussels and then on to Liege. They decided against Aachen and Koln – Koln, or Cologne, was too short a river trip so they made for Koblenz and then down to the U bend at Boppard.
'I reckon they'll continue on to Stuttgart and Munich en route for Vienna. If I were in their captors’ shoes I would rest up in some quiet spot,' Garee opined.
Garee suggested driving as he thought his friend might be somewhat reckless under the circumstances, but he certainly didn't hang around himself. A journey of around two hundred and fifty miles wasn't going to be covered in a morning. They might manage it by mid afternoon, all things being equal.
Brussels was a nightmare and reduced their headway. It was the first time Dan had visited the city and he was not at all impressed, it seemed such a mess. Dan navigated blindly, depending on road signs as he didn't have a detailed map of the city - however, he did make a good job of reading the road atlas of Europe he had to hand and was inwardly thankful he wasn't employed to draw up such maps himself. His mind was half on the family as Garee had rightly predicted so there was little conversation except silently with his Maker when they rounded a sharp bend on two wheels, sceptically wondering how God could possibly listen to silent conversation, especially when thousands of people call upon Him at once - unless of course each human being had a private line to a computer, but then if a computer can sort out an array of information in next to no time, then surely God who is mightier, can cope being so much more efficient than a computer? Faith can't be bad stuff after all, he mused, because he was still alive against all the odds of Garee's driving.
'How can we possibly know which boat they've boarded - IF they've boarded,' Dan corrected.
'There's no way of telling. Hopefully they will make a lengthy stop at Boppard which should give us plenty of time to nip on board and have a look for ourselves.'
'And how do we do that - an infinite supply of tickets? Anyway, the passengers may have all disembarked.'
'No doubt you will think of something when the time comes even if it means clearing everyone off - we could always create a bomb or fire alert.'
'We'll just have to play it by ear.'
'Difficult for a musician who can only play by music,' Garee joked, knowing Dan's ability as a performer when he had some music in front of him.
'Ha-ha, thanks very much! I reckon we'll be too late anyway.'
Fortunately the roads were dry so that there were less hazards than there would have otherwise been.
They arrived at Boppard ravenous, shortly after three thirty; parked their car alongside one of the many kiosks that line the west bank of the river and then they strolled along the water's edge, stopping at each landing stage to see if the sign read ‘Dusseldorfer’ or the times of arrivals.
'If they telephoned from Dusseldorf and boarded a Rhine cruiser within the hour, they won't be here yet a while,' Garee consoled, 'there are many stops on the way.'
They found one Dusseldorfer docked on the outskirts of Boppard but all the passengers had disembarked and were scattered around the town, some visiting the basilica, some souvenir hunting whilst others were content to stretch their legs and simply enjoy a stroll along the waterside. Some had stopped to watch a chess match in motion, played with large plastic pieces on a painted concrete board. A few had managed to seek out a game of curling. Others were restocking their reserve of films in preparation for the journey through the Rhine Gorge with its fairy-tale castles and Lorelei rocks. Travellers passing a little church on an eyot often wondered how people managed to get to church on Sundays; the mind always conjures up weird pictures of worshippers clad in their Sunday attire, rowing to the little church and either arriving with wet seats or being carried downstream by the current and missing the service altogether.
Garee wandered off to find some light refreshment for the two of them whilst Dan kept an eye on returning passengers, but to no avail. By four o'clock they were all on board and away. Then he saw them. They must have missed the boat. Now they seemed intent on something else, walking around town in the presence of two men who flanked them. 'For goodness sake hurry Garee or I'll just have to go after them on my own,' he said aloud, knowing he wouldn't hear him. Inwardly he knew there was little they could do other than follow them whilst these two guards were in attendance.
On his return, Dan put Garee in the picture and the two men started off after Dan's family keeping at a safe distance. They soon caught sight of them again. 'Maybe we'll learn something if we follow them - goodness only knows what, though,' Garee suggested, the food forgotten as they stalked the group.
Their pursuit took them to the chair-lift station where one man took the lead whilst the second appeared to guard the rear. Dan and Garee stepped up their pace and managed to secure seats a dozen or so behind them so that they could still keep them in view as they were swept above the ageing vines and within moments the panorama of the Rhineland was splayed out to the side of them with the famous loop in the river on the right.
The Boppard chair-lift seats are on a perpetual circuit so that arriving at the top, one has to release the safety bar and then gauge the right moment to leap off. The system is very workable but if an elderly or disabled person decides to get on, then a small flag is attached to the seat so that the attendant can see in advance and stop the system to enable the handicapped to be helped off before being set in motion again.
At the summit of the hill lies a restaurant set in a wood, but by the time Dan and Garee had jumped off, there was no sign of his family or their guards. Dan rushed off to the restaurant leaving Garee to use the fixed telescope, slipping in a mark and scanning the area underneath the chair-lift. He just caught a glimpse of Clare's coat in a small clearing used as an observation spot for sight-see-ers, just as Dan was reaching the door from the inside. 'Quickly - come on!' Garee urged, 'they've back-tracked and taken the path back down.'
By the time the breathless pair sighted them, neither of the guards could be seen, nevertheless they plodded on relentlessly but it was difficult to stay at a distance as the path snaked through trees and dropped rapidly which meant that they had to get closer to keep them in sight.
It was quite a while before it dawned on Dan Tindale that the men who appeared to be escorting his family were no longer there. Spurred on by this thought, he broke into a run, taking short steps so that there was no likelihood of his paces widening progressively, making him lose control and fall over himself. Close on their heels he yelled to them but they did not seem to hear. The two apparent guards leapt out at the weary pursuers and stood in front of them, blocking their path. There was a sudden lack of assertion as Garee and Dan found themselves looking into the barrels of a couple of Walthers. The thugs restrained them by grabbing hold of them from behind, gripping their arms and placing handcuffs on their wrists as they pulled their arms behind their backs. It was all done in a matter of three seconds, at the same time firing three shots at the fleeing family. The three fell to the ground. Dan cried out as he tried to wrestle himself free.
'Don't worry, we haven't killed them, more... er.. shall we say hindered them. They'll live - but this is just to show you that we hold all the aces - you see how easy it would be to kill them,' he went on, 'should you involve the police or feel like disregarding our directive to you about the congress.'
Dan and Garee were engulfed in the black hole as the two men clubbed them with the butt of their revolvers, unlocked their handcuffs and dragged them into the bedraggled vines that looked if they would never yield any fruit ever again.
Garee was the first to regain consciousness and set about reviving Dan. They sat quietly on the same spot until the haze had cleared from their heads and then they staggered on to the foot of the hill where they found a wooden seat, which they were only too glad to utilise.
'What I cannot understand,' Dan sounded a little tipsy, 'is how the hell they knew we would make for Boppard - there are so many places we could have decided on.'
'I've been wondering the same myself; I can only reiterate that either someone is keeping a very close eye on us or someone is very good at strategy,' Garee said, ‘but if you remember, it was you and I who guessed their route.’
Having established they were impotent to do anything positive at the moment to locate either Dan's family or the invisible enemy, they opted for a little relaxation. The first priority was to book into a hotel. They soon found a half-timbered building that had recently been extended. The extension was of a modern style but not out of keeping with the original, lying at the water's edge on the extremity of the town. They were greeted by a delightful Dutch proprietor and his smiling wife, who exuded just as much charm as their hotel oozed cleanliness and brightness. Nothing was too much trouble for these two Dutch exiles who had moved to Germany because of the onerous taxes in their own country. The east side of the building literally opened up onto the Rhine giving the impression of being aboard a boat without actually experiencing the undulation that causes sea sickness. The food too was in keeping with the rest of the place and could be taken at a table on a waterside patio if one was prepared to do battle with the clouds of midges that hovered overhead .It is strange that if you give negative thoughts to these midges, they sense that they are not wanted and will move away.
One amusing incident was no reflection on the management but more on modern-day workmanship, which is surprising in a country known for its quality of products and for sheer hard work. Whilst seated on the throne in the little boy's room, Dan suddenly found himself sliding arse first into the watery depths as the seat just cracked under his weight without prior warning. It may appear a highly amusing anecdote to tell a friend but it was exceedingly embarrassing to have to explain the apparent vandalism to the proprietor who, restraining laughter himself, apologised profusely - but this was only the catalyst in a series of mishaps. On changing channels after switching on the colour television set in their room, Dan found himself holding in his hand the component, which had detached itself from the set. He tried fixing it but without success. He became fearful of having to confront the management with yet another act of vandalism for he had hoped to repair the thing himself without further ado. The misfortunes did not stop there. As they were about to leave for dinner, the door handle came off in Garee's hand. This was enough to set Dan on a trip of hysteria, his maniacal laughter penetrating deep into the corridors of the hotel. They had to summon help eventually to bail them out of the room. Three acts of vandalism from the same occupants were too coincidental to be mere accidents. Mishaps, they say, come in threes - not so with these two mature Englishmen - the jinx struck yet again when trying to open the two-way window opening system which they had never encountered before - the result being that Dan stood with the complete window in his hands, calling Garee for immediate assistance lest he dropped it. Confronting the Dutchman yet again was more than Dan could take so he persuaded Garee to do his dirty work for him. Politicians are human after all, Garee decided.
Determined to relax the following day and get as far away from the place as possible, they decided to take a cruise down the river after hearing the weathermen forecast an imminent Indian summer. The idyllic journey provided an opportunity for some reflection and hopefully some inspiration too. There was plenty of the former as they once again wrote down all the events of their escapade but there was a marked dearth of the latter.
The extremity of the round trip was Rudesheim where they alighted and spent a pleasant afternoon exploring the town and indulging in some strong German lager which was on tap in all of the many Biergarten, each with its own personal sound of live music. Unfortunately they had not been aware of the earlier announcement over the boat's tannoy system before they left, announcing the time of the last sailing of the day - at which time they were suspended over vineyards in a cable car.
It took a few more drinks and a good deal of courage for Dan to phone up the Boppard hotel and explain why the two of them wouldn't be back for the night. 'No problem,' the Dutchman explained, 'just be at the jetty in an hour and I will pick you up.'
'Goodness only knows what he'll think of us British,' Dan commented.
'Albeit a Member of Parliament,' Garee added. 'Where but where back home would a hotel proprietor down tools and pick up two lost souls who are foolish enough to go gallivanting around without checking their return, especially after vandalising the hotel.'
Despite their efforts, they were unable to draw anything positive from their deliberations. Dan's trip had been ruined by his preoccupation with his family. He had seen them gunned down with his own eyes yet something didn't ring true but he could not put his finger on it. Garee could contribute very little to help. 'Where would they have been taken, do you think?' Dan asked, his thoughts miles away.
'Who?'
'Oh... sorry, I was expecting you to be tuned in to my thoughts, that's all. Clare and the children, I mean. They dare not take them to a hospital, they would have to be patched up somewhere, if only to stem the flow of.... Wait a minute, that's it. Don't you see? I knew there was something wrong, Garee, there was no blood - no traces - I didn't even see any stains on their clothes.'
'I doubt if you would have noticed even if there had been, the state you were in.'
'No. I'm absolutely sure.'
'Meaning?'
'I've no idea.'
'Great! Just great!' Dan had no way of knowing that it was all an act designed to scare the living daylights out of him. Blanks were fired at some actors borrowed to assimilate Dan’s family.
At the hotel a letter awaited Dan Tindale. He was fearful of opening it because only they could know of his whereabouts. 'YOU WILL HAVE BE NO FURTHER CONTACT WITH YOUR FAMILY UNTIL AFTER THE CONGRESS - THEY WILL BE RETURNED UNHARMED IF YOU KEEP AWAY FROM VIENNA.’
They were both resigned to the acceptance of the situation. There was no way they could get them back - not just the two of them on their own - but they were looking in the wrong direction.

Misty Foggle had missed the tiny paragraph in the paper, which stated that Sven Olafsen, the Norwegian minister for the environment, was in hospital after a skiing accident. His condition was said to be serious. Had he seen it he would have known that this was no accident.







CHAPTER 6

The Phoenix Group, a subsidiary of Interterr, terrorists who believed their actions would eventually resurrect an Utopian world out of the ashes of imperialism and communism, had not, as yet, infiltrated Norway, so they delegated a Swiss by the name of Kurt Langer to the task of ’taking out’ Sven Olafsen. A staunch campaigner, Olafsen's first aim in government was to tackle the problem of acid rain, which was eating away at their forests of firs. Meticulous in everything he tackled, Olafsen's efforts had resulted in a reduction of the country's pollution; he had already slowed down the destruction of nature. He was a tough liner and had fought hard to get others to follow his country's example, which, in the long run, would also benefit Norway.
With this project well in hand, he turned to preserving the many species of the animal kingdom, fighting to stop scientists experimenting with animals and to this end he found himself at odds with the coastal populous whose living depended on whaling in the Norwegian Sea.
At the age of nine, Olafsen was with a group of his peers one night when they grabbed hold of a cat and stuffed a lit firework in its mouth. As the cat exploded, he was physically sick after which he attacked the perpetrator who happened to be his closest friend - he hammered him, sending him home with two black eyes amidst many other bruises to his body, swearing that if he ever so much as looked at another animal, he would kill him. It wasn't his nature to be violent and the whole incident upset him for some time to come. He burdened himself with his friend's actions and swore he would work his way to a position where he would be able to defend creatures who were unable to tell of their suffering. Unfortunately there were too many members of the government who were indifferent and there were some who were openly opposed to him but Olafsen's personality always managed to dilute the strength of any adversity and he came out whiter than white.
Kurt Langer liked to get to know his victims so that he could predict their actions and reactions, seek out their weaknesses and make a mental note of their strengths too. He was an experienced and talented skier, having once beaten Franz Klammer in a downhill race at Wengen. It was for his acumen in this field that the Phoenix Group had chosen him for this particular task. He would have made an excellent private detective were he to defect to the other side. He was thorough in his research and enquiries, so it was no surprise that he found himself dining at the same table as the environment minister in his favourite restaurant in Oslo. They each took an instant liking to the other and so the seed of friendship was sown, but in Langer's case it was with a view to fulfilling his mission. Olafsen would not have been the first victim that Langer had respected or even liked, but he never let his emotions deter him in any way, neither would he ever let himself be caught off guard at any time but outwardly he would always exude an air of affability.
Langer was never out of place in Olafsen's company because he was a well-educated man and able to converse about almost any topic but he always kept himself in reserve so that he would not be seen to express any strong views on controversial subjects. He knew only very little Norwegian so they conversed in German which Olafsen spoke almost as well as his native tongue. There was little Langer had to guard against for he was a schoolteacher so to all intents and purposes he was a bona fide citizen. He had become a reactionary in his late teens - sick of the Swiss obsession with work and money, or was it money and work, to the exclusion of all else and at the expense of freedom and happiness - freedom from the monetary prison in which so many of his countrymen were trapped - happiness, the ability to relax and joke without being en haut. He had studied communism and observed it in practice - fear and oppression. All these ideals are great on paper, but like all systems, become corrupt as soon as the human element is applied so that the original concept would become abused and distorted beyond recognition. There had to be a middle way, a less complicated life, almost back to basics, but preserving all that is cultural - then who is going to enforce such a Utopian society and see that it isn't corrupted - it is the enforcer who becomes corrupt - they start to amass riches for themselves and become as Ceaucescu, the Romanian dictator. The Phoenix Group were convinced that the evil of the capitalist and communist societies had to be eliminated before a decent society could grow out of the ashes - but in trying to implement their ideals, they became criminals of the worst order - terrorists. The there are those who interfere ion every country, carefully and corruptly planting their own men into power. They ask for terrorists to strike; it is entirely their own fault just as other countries provoke their enemies into taking terrorist action. The world knows nothing of what goes on behind the scenes and what corruption lies behind many a political motive. Those who fear the Russians and the Eastern political system are looking the wrong way.
In order to obtain first-hand information of communism on the one hand and the decadent West on the other, Langer arranged school exchanges with his senior pupils so that he would travel with them to Russia, Romania and America, taking a class of mature students for a period of three weeks. On returning he would ask each group to write up their observations and experiences and then give each of them a questionnaire to obtain answers not already volunteered.
Teaching in a ‘neutral’ country had its advantages; it was easier to arrange exchanges without too many eyebrows being raised - in many other countries the authorities were reluctant to let their pupils embark on such a 'dangerous' scheme. Having collated the information over a period of years, it only confirmed what he had already surmised. To satisfy himself that he was going to work for the right cause in joining Phoenix he spent vacations in the third world countries trying to establish the political reason for their demise - he avoided third world countries that had become so because of natural disasters. So many countries had been given help but the money had often been diverted and the poor suffering indigents continued to live in poverty and suffer disease.
His second meeting with Olafsen was pre-arranged mutually so that they were able to get together in the minister's city flat he used during the week, his family house being at Koenigsberg, some seventy kilometres west of the capital. Although he kept a cook come housekeeper, he often prepared a meal himself when entertaining guests - that is when time permitted. By the time they had drunk a linjeakevitt, a national spirit allowed to mellow by travelling to Australia and back in oak barrels, the meal was ready. Olafsen excused himself whilst he put the finishing touches to his culinary acumen, leaving Langer to contemplate some of the minister's art collection.
The dining room and kitchen were one room separated by a wide pine bar that served as a working surface. The dining area was entirely panelled with a dark pine except for the ceiling which was painted in a Prussian blue from which hung a pendant copper light that hovered not more than two feet above the surface of the table with its four matching chairs and thickly upholstered chintz seats. The only other lights were inlaid into the wood panelled walls, effecting a suffused floodlight. A pale blue fitted carpet soaked up the table in its soft shag pile and a little bar was built into a narrow recess in one corner of the room. There was little else that could distract a business conversation. A window only two feet in height, ran along the full length of the top of one of the walls so that no visitor could let his gaze stray beyond the limits of the room - ideal for a working meal.
The aroma of the main course was sufficient to bring a strong man like Langer to his knees as he tried in vain to conjure up images of the food, which he knew would satisfy his enquiring and now noisy stomach. He continually committed his victim's taste and expertise to his cold and calculating computer of a brain. 'What a shame,' he thought, 'to have to rid the world of such a talented and likeable being as this man - he would be a great asset on our side, but alas there would be no more chance of turning him than flying Concorde backwards, anyway it isn't part of my brief.' Now he couldn't wait for his unsuspecting prey to remove the lids from the dishes. If he had the heart, this would be one sure way of getting to it, but he was a cold soulless being. As yet he was no nearer establishing what method he would employ to get rid of Olafsen but it was early days yet - nevertheless, he couldn't wait too long as his instructions were to take him out within ten days.
The more they talked the more they grew to like each other, however Olafsen couldn't help but feel that there was something about this Swiss that didn't ring true but then perhaps he was misjudging him.
'Jaegersgulasch,' Olafsen announced as he lifted the first lid and pushed the steaming dish towards his guest. 'I've no need to translate, I'm sure.'
'I live in the French sector of Switzerland. I know, you may well ask how my German is so good. I haven't always lived in the southwest, I was brought up in a little village on the German border; my French is passable but not perfect. I believe that most European countries have a hunters' dish of a sort,' he added returning to the food.
'A recipe of my own, especially for cold nights, I hope you will enjoy it.'
'Then it's no use asking what's in it then, most cooks like to guard the secrets of their own recipes.'
'That's true, but I will tell you that the meat is pork - I hope you have no objection to eating pig's meat?'
'No religious, medical, environmental reason or personal fad; in fact I love pork. I must say, minister, I'm surprised that you are not a vegetarian with such ....' he was going to say 'strong feelings on the slaughter of animals,' but checked himself as Olafsen hadn't yet brought up the topic. Anyway it was a controversial and sensitive field he should avoid and wondered if this man was really sincere in his beliefs. Then he decided to carry on his sentence with a watered-down version of what he was going to say in the first place. 'I believe that animals were put on the earth for man to eat,' he realised after he had said it that this was not watered down but even more bold, and then wondered what sort of a response this remark would conjecture.
'It is always difficult to know where to draw the line. We mustn't let a species become extinct, neither should we let them multiply to the extent of becoming a threat. If we kill for food, it must be within a pre-ordered plan and it must be carried out humanely and painlessly. I do not believe in killing for killing's sake - trophies and the like - nor for greed in the likes of skins, tusks and so on.'
A clever and well thought out reply, the wiseacre, Langer mused but he was bordering a forbidden zone. 'A threat to what?' he queried.
'Overcrowding the earth to the extent of not being properly nourished, neither should the more ferocious become a threat to mankind. As it is, most deaths from animals usually occur because of man's stupidity or pure carelessness.'
'I have to concede that I agree with you.'
'At least these colder countries are not laced with ‘nasties’, so there are advantages of living in such places, not least for sport. I for one am an ardent skier - the one luxury I afford myself away from the family,’ the minister went on, ‘though I do take them with me on occasions. If I need time to think I then spirit myself away into the mountains - there's nothing like it for relaxing the mind and releasing pent-up frustration. It keeps the body trim too.'
'What kind of skiing?'
'If I'm with the family we usually do a spot of cross country, but on my own I tend to be a little more adventurous and do some down-hill. I've even given Schussing a try - that's even faster, as you know, it follows the fall line.'
Whilst they were talking, a plan was beginning to form in Langer's mind - skiing would give him the ideal opportunity to arrange an accident - if only he could persuade the minister to invite him to join him.
Little more was said about skiing that night and the conversation swung to the country's administration. The recent death of King Olaf V was foremost in his mind for this old monarch of the Land of the Midnight Sun was very much a people's king, revered by other nations as much as by his own people. 'He reigned for almost 34 years and was related to the British queen, you know. The Norwegian monarch is automatically head of the armed forces in this country and of the nation's Evangelical Lutheran Church, who must essentially be a male. In contrast,' Olafsen went on, 'our Prime Minister is female with a husband who strangely enough is an active member of the opposition Conservative party. I owe my position to her as she is the expert on the country's environment, chairing the UN's World Commission on Environment and Development - a commission of some twenty-two countries. Because of her commitments as Prime Minister and ever increasing family demands, she appointed me to cope with the escalating problems of international importance - so here I am!' Olafsen excused himself as he cleared the table and returned with a bowl of fresh Multer, or cloudberries, which he served with whipped cream.
In sharp contrast to the dining room, Olafsen's living room was focussed on the picture window, which looked out onto a tree-pocked lawn bordered by a mixture of shrubs and hardy perennials. To the side of the window in one corner of the room stood a Boesendorfer grand piano in a highly polished mahogany.
The meal over, Langer was completely taken aback as Olafsen sat himself at the instrument and blossomed forth into the opening bars of Grieg's A Minor Piano Concerto. He suddenly stopped as though ashamed of his performance and apologised, 'Sorry, very rude of me, I tend to resort to this beauty after a meal - I have an unending love affair with the instrument. Do you like music?'
'Don't apologise on my behalf, you were doing your national composer no dishonour - he would have been proud of you. Play something else please.' Olafsen went one further and after a few bars of introduction burst forth into song, displaying an obviously well trained light tenor voice. Purcell's 'Dido's Lament' permeated the Swiss teacher's bones, intensifying his reluctance to harm this incredible man. He quite expected him to stand on his head and perform some fantastic magic for his next trick. He tried hard to find something in him to dislike but absolutely nothing was forthcoming.
Langer was no desperado, and genuinely wished he could return the minister's hospitality. 'If I lived here I would invite you to a meal but even then I could not offer you such wonderful entertainment. The best I can do is to take you out for one instead, with the proviso,' and the next line he found hard to deliver, 'that you dine with me at my home if you will find time to visit Switzerland.' Then as an addendum, 'I can find you plenty of places to ski.' He felt an utter hypocrite, but wasn't this part and parcel of the job?
'I would very much like to take you up on that offer. Shortly I have to attend a congress in Vienna and so I could make a point of breaking my journey.'
'An excellent idea - better still, if you can allow yourself a few extra days,' he added automatically without thinking and then he inwardly reproached himself for letting his feelings take control of him. Such folly could jeopardise his entire mission. He wondered if there were any means of turning this man who would make an ideal leader in his new world.
'Perhaps before then you might like to accompany me to the Gausta mountain where I have a chalet. I shall be going there in two days' time, for about five days. I need time for some study and preparation - with a little skiing of course. On the other hand you may find it boring, or should I say find me boring.'
Langer lit up at the suggestion. 'It is most kind of you. That would suit me fine, I don't have to be back in Switzerland for another ten days.'
Time, place, method outlined, it just required the finer details. Maybe he could go out and find the exact location whilst he's studying, he thought as he felt the adrenalin pumping into him, giving him a feeling not far short of sexual pleasure.
Langer was essentially a bachelor - not that he disliked women's company, on the contrary, he seized upon any opportunity that presented itself, but because of his professions both as a school teacher and as a hatchet man for the Phoenix Group, he considered it immoral to commit some poor young lover to a life as a grass widow, though he never considered it immoral to kill for the cause.
What a world this is, he would often murmur to himself, as he considered the atrocities of life, which had convinced him there could not possibly be a God. If we could tot up the sum of years of the lives of all the priests and monks and other servants of God over the centuries, what a criminal waste of life there has been if there is no God, he mused.
His school experience showed that the clever and willing pupils were frequently elbowed out of the way, the weaker become rebels in the long run but the strong willed more often than not turned out to be the most desirable characters and the pillars of society.
For years Langer could not establish whether man should accept his lot and ply himself to the best of his ability or whether he should try to right all the wrongs. It is easier to accept and live a peaceful life than to be a crusader who has to fight for a better world and then perhaps lose his life before he has the chance to reap the fruits of his labours - he chose the latter but then he frequently questioned himself over his decision. Meeting such people as Olafsen had once again raised doubts as to the merits of being a crusader - there would always be reactionaries in every society, come what may. Adolf Hitler and Saddam Hussein never changed the world but they earned themselves a place in history for their atrocities - through these two men, hundreds of thousands of people died unnecessarily – and there were others, too numerous to name. Atrocities are needless, futile and unending - Vietnam, Korea, Cambodia, Ireland, South Africa, Libya, Uganda, El Salvador, Argentina, Afghanistan - the list is endless; children shot on the streets of Brazil. Is life no longer precious, he wondered. Life is cheap in the third world - it is to these people and other poor and oppressed that the Phoenix Group dedicated its existence.
To doubt is to weaken, to weaken is to fail. Langer pulled himself together sharply. He began to wonder what Olafsen's wife was like and whether his children would inherit any of their father's talent and character - it was strong but compassionate, so seldom found in men or even women of high-ranking office. One doesn't have to hate one's victim, but it helps in this game - if only this man could be persuaded to join Phoenix - to stay alive if nothing else, but to broach the subject would disclose his interest in the man and sooner or later his intentions would be identified.
Olafsen's mountain home was a single storied pinewood building, which consisted of a living room, two small bedrooms, a kitchenette and a bathroom. There was no electricity so lighting and cooking were by courtesy of a calor gas bottle. Only the bare essentials for a short stay adorned the cabin but the minimum facilities were adequate to ensure that guests were comfortable. It didn't take the men many minutes to achieve their first objective - to get a good fire roaring away to dry out the ambient dampness, then they cleaned up the place before unpacking. Had Oalfsen had any inkling as to the contents of his guest's suitcase he would have turned to jelly instantly.
'You're the one who has work to do so it would make sense if I were to be mother and do the cooking and household chores,' Langer suggested.
'That's most kind of you but I don't expect my guests to work. Let's compromise - you cook and I'll clean.' That way they would keep out of each other's way when not on the slopes. 'What do you say to testing the snow?'
'I'd like nothing better - just give me a half hour to do some food preparation and I'll be with you.'
Olafsen returned to the car and took out his lap top computer and settled himself down to some work whilst Langer busied himself in the kitchen.
Cumulous clouds mantled the slopes but there were no signs of anything falling. The fir trees looked like a solemn army on guard duty as they stood to attention in greeting when the two men took to the piste. Snow had not fallen in the past week but the last flakes to fall were wet and now lay compacted on an already solid foundation.
Despite the two men's love of skiing, the aim of the break was to relax and give the minister time to think so the going was leisurely for the first day then they returned to the cabin after ninety minutes.
The following morning beckoned the men out onto the slopes where a cheery sun greeted them, encouraging them to exert a little more energy taking a fair faster pace and venturing further a field than the previous afternoon. There was little chance for conversation, which enabled Olafsen to ruminate about his project he was going to embark on after lunch.
Langer was keen to stretch Olafsen to capacity to test how good he was when put under pressure. The minister was obviously accustomed to these pistes and was confident he could outski the Swiss who had challenged him to a race. 'I accept your challenge,' he smiled, 'and I'll give you a five second start as you are strange to these mountains.' A professional would normally have deemed this an insult but Langer was beginning to read his opponent now and knew that it was the minister's sense of fairness that had prompted the concession. In skiing, five seconds is an eternity when competitors' results are graded and packed into hundredths of a second. Olafsen designated the course and depicted a cluster of trees in the distance as the finishing line. Before Olafsen blinked, the Swiss was over the brow and lost to sight. The result would depend how each of them tackled the small jumps, the Norwegian surmised, and he had sufficient confidence in himself to know he would gain some time in this field, hopefully making up the greater part of the other man's head start.
Olafsen adopted an aerodynamic tuck, taking the twists and bends tightly to gain the extra hundredths of a second by covering less ground. On the straight he could now see the Swiss ahead of him and gauged that he had reduced the lead by two seconds, but there was still a good deal of leeway to make up. He noticed that Langer had skied some of the brows he should have jumped. On the next bend he almost regretted cutting so much of it as he almost lost his ski - the experience cost him a full second and he swore under his breath - he wasn't to know that Langer had misread the bend; it was far more severe than he had anticipated, as he too decided to gain a little ground by taking the bends tightly, but he swung to the left in counterbalancing and overcompensated, finding it difficult to maintain his balance. A tree suddenly loomed up at him - he slowed himself almost to a halt to put himself back on course, the danger now being past. Olafsen smiled to himself as he saw what the Swiss had done; he was almost on him now.
Back on a straight now the two men were battling it out in earnest, neck and neck as they veered first to the left and then to the right, both jumping and landing together. They had covered two thirds of the course with neither man giving any hint as to who was going to pull ahead. Olafsen had warned Langer of the lip which was now lying ahead of them - Langer had it sighted and remembered the Norwegian's warning - here was the chance to gain that extra split second if he could execute the jump in the fashion he taught his pupils back home in Switzerland. He was certain that Olafsen had told him to vere to the right on landing, but he wasn't certain - was it left then right, or was it vice versa? He decided it was to the right and his mistake cost both men dearly as their skis touched and both men awkwardly wrapped around each other - the two offending skis falling away on their own.
As soon as their skis had touched, Langer knew he had made the wrong decision. If Olafsen has broken something there would be no more skiing and his mission would be ruined through his own stupidity. A man with his mental agility and training should never have forgotten an instruction - but he had been too wrapped up in his plans at the time - Olafsen could have been mistaken and deliberately given him the wrong turn but he immediately dismissed that idea because it was not in the minister's character to behave like that, anyway he knew the piste well and he had no reason to give him the wrong instruction deliberately.
They were both fortunate to be able to pick themselves up, grateful that neither of them had broken anything but they knew that the bruises they sustained would make themselves apparent later.
Langer planned on an exploratory trip in the afternoon whilst the minister worked because he was suffering the effects of the fall more than the Swiss. This really signalled a rest but with his own mission in mind and because his discomfort was a result of his slackness, he decided to punish himself and force himself to go out and finalise his plan.
The following day, Olafsen was too sore to ski and so he insisted on staying indoors despite protests from the Swiss. 'Just because I'm not going it shouldn't stop you,' the minister said, 'just let me know which piste you intend to take and roughly how long you intend to be out so that I know where to look for you if you don't return.'
'You don't have much confidence in me do you, my friend, still I can't blame you from what you've seen of my performance so far.'
'There's been a fall of snow overnight - you know very well that the whole of the mountain will look different when you get out there and you are not familiar with the Gausta.'
Langer conceded the point and told the minister which direction he was heading and when to be expected back, giving himself ample time to deal with the evening meal. He prepared a sandwich lunch for the two of them and took a Pils for himself.
'I'll be off then - you should be able to have a good long peaceful spell to get on with your work. I expect to hear you have finished your Strasbourg speech by the time I return.' He smiled semi-sincerely and with that he picked up his skis and was gone. Without looking u,p Olafsen grunted acknowledgement as he prodded at the computer keys.
Without realising it, Langer was already two hours overdue. The light was beginning to fail which prompted Olafsen to look at his watch and then peer out of the window - it was snowing heavily. 'Damned Swiss!' he cursed, 'they think they know everything.' Under normal circumstances he would not venture onto the slopes in such heavy snow, or even in fading light for that matter. 'Damn the man,' he swore again as he began to regret inviting him.
Perhaps he's taken shelter in another cabin, he thought as he contemplated going out to look for him. He's a grown man and an experienced skier - so he says. He took comfort in his own assumption and decided it was sheer folly to go out to search for him. If he's had an accident he'll be covered in snow and I wouldn't be able to find him anyway - if he's not back by the time the storm's over I'll go out and search. He then set about preparing middag himself in the absence of the chef.
The downfall had eased to a few flakes wafting in and out of the trees in the ululating wind, giving a luminosity to the wraith-like trees that stood out against the thinning clouds, slowly being penetrated by the refulgence of the moon. Another quarter hour and I'll go out and look for him, he kept on deferring the chore to give himself time to finish the meal preparation and put it on the gas. At least one of them was going to appreciate a hot soup before very long. As he lifted the concoction onto the ring the door opened, a flurry of freshly driven snow accompanied the white form that turned around and shook itself clear of the crystals like a dog after a swim, leaned the skis against the door and uttered profound apologies.
'Another ten minutes and I would have been out looking for you - the snow was too heavy to go earlier.'
'I'm glad you didn't, it would have been very foolish. I was down in the northern valley when it started and I lay up in the first chalet where I saw a light - some people by the name of Vrethammer - a very pleasant couple from Bergen - the trouble was our limited communication - the only common language was English and we knew very little of that - however, we managed.'
I don't know them - there are so many comings and goings - the chalets are let out part of the year and their owners take residence themselves at other times. At least you are safe, thank goodness. We can eat shortly; I've done the honours tonight - nothing spectacular but ideal for a cold night.'
The two men exchanged anecdotes over a few Pils that evening and the intended early night stretched until one in the morning when the minister finally excused himself because of his excessive work the next day. He hoped that he could include some skiing as well now that the soreness was wearing off.
As dawn unfolded his sleep, Langer lay back on his bed contemplating the scene - this was the day for the hit and everything depended on precise timing. He went over the whole scenario several times in his mind so that there could be no mistake. He had brought an assortment of weapons but he could discount most of them as this essentially had to look like an accident.
The next morning passed quietly with Olafsen starting on his speech for the Viennese congress and Langer cleaning the cabin and preparing food - open sandwiches for lunch again to please the minister and there must be evidence that the two intended dining together that night to dispel any doubts in the minds of the suspicious.
During the course of the morning, a plethora of diversely coloured skiers etched decussate wheals in the virgin snow which had formed a frosted crust like the outer coating of a huge peppermint cream. The hills were alive with shouting and the general hubbub of fun, but Olafsen was buried in his speech oblivious to the sporting activities and merriment outside. No-one had ventured to the slope Langer had selected for the afternoon's ski - it was a challenging course that only the very best would attempt - and the fruition of his lethal skulduggery. For Langer to be engaged in such malice seemed so out of place; just like a straight-laced BBC Radio 3 news presenter finishing his delivery on a cold night with: 'Now you can get yourself some cocoa and biccies and snuggle around the fire as I wish you a very good night.'
The stage was set.
Few could be seen in the theatre of the slopes as the two men set off to their starting point, using their skis to enjoy a little cross country en route before embarking upon the downhill spurt that Langer had arranged.
'Stop there!' Langer shouted, 'that's where we start,' and then he proceeded to run to catch up the minister, bumping into him with sufficient force to topple him.
Olafsen didn't feel the hair-fine needle carefully fitted into the Swiss man's glove penetrate his side as it punctured the skin and emptied the contents of the liquid into the minister's veins. The Swiss apologised profusely once again for bumping into him, at the same time making a mental note of the countdown so that the poison would start to take effect at precisely the right moment. He had estimated his victim's weight, which he balanced with his present physical being as the adrenalin pumped into each of the two men simultaneously.
'I'll go first,' said Langer who was dressed in a psychedelic red ski suit with yellow stripes. To any unseen voyeurs, it would be witnessed that he couldn't possibly have pushed the minister, as he was in front of him. Olafsen, clad in his two-tone blue ski-suit allowed the Phoenix agent a mere five seconds start. This was one section of the mountain he had never skied, he preferred to keep the Swiss in sight rather than follow his tracks. He was beginning to experience an odd sensation, so he shook his head as though fighting off an unpleasant insect and then launched himself forth into the white opaque.
The course he was following was steep with sharp twists. This was not a race so he could afford himself a little more room on the bends. His eyes were growing mistier and he found that his concentration was weakening; nevertheless, he had reached a good ninety miles an hour by now and then came upon a sharp turn to the left. The white bank of snow on the bend appeared as a mere white blur then his senses began to orbit. He mounted the bank and took off to find himself floating in space unable to make out anything but a misty grey ahead of him - he had no idea that he was falling two hundred feet - then all went black.
Langer was certain that the minister had taken a dive now as he himself straightened up after a ninety-degree turn to the right. He afforded himself a quick glance - he had to be certain. Indeed he timed it perfectly he thought as he saw the blue figure leap over the bluff, but his own concentration lapsed momentarily, a split second but just enough to make him stop the tree that was fast accelerating towards him. There was no way he could avert the certainty and finality of the collision. His helmet may have saved his head from being pulverised but it was little protection from the concussing blow that his whole body suffered along the length of a pine. He fell in a heap of smashed bones - one of his ribs pierced his heart.
Olafsen, the one who was supposed to meet with a fatality, was fortunate because his fall was broken by a combination of a thicket of thinly stemmed shrubs and of soft snow, thus cheating death. It was a full two hours before help reached him. A party of skiers on the opposite slope noticed a blue object protruding out of the snow. One of them took out a pair of binoculars. Seeing that it was obviously someone who had come to grief she quickly sent the other skiers on their way to summon help. Mountain Rescue was alerted and within minutes, Olafsen was being taken aboard a helicopter.
There was nothing to suggest that the minister had suffered anything but an accident. He was unable to remember anything after the initial thrust at the start of the slope. The headlines in the Norwegian press had outlined the double tragedy. Langer had later been identified and many questions were being asked as to how a professional skier could have possibly met with such demise in what were described as good skiing conditions. The minister had not seen the paper and was unaware of the other man's accident.
Those in the upper echelons of the Phoenix Group were satisfied that Olafsen could not possibly present them a problem; from all accounts he wasn't likely to be in a fit condition to attend the Viennese congress if he lived at all, and the man most likely to deputise for him was no threat as he was not really interested in the topics, he was quite prepared to keep the coastal community in business to boost his popularity. There was no need for the Phoenix Group to send in another man to finish off the job that Langer had all but succeeded in doing. There were other countries, which were sufficiently laid back and so the Phoenix Group didn't deem it necessary to interfere.





CHAPTER 7

Father Strom Jorgensen had just reached his half century three days before the incident involving Olafsen and Langer appeared in the daily newspaper. Before entering the priesthood in his late thirties, the priest was a government agent, during which time he had encountered Langer who, at the time, worked as a free-lance assassin whilst holding a teaching post in a British school in Switzerland. Seeing the Swiss's photograph triggered alarm bells at the back of his mind, but he was a long way from the scene, living within the Arctic Circle.
Tromso is the world's most northern city, lying two hundred and fifteen miles inside the Arctic Circle, where the sun never sets in the summer and never rises in the cold bleak winters. Once in eleven years, the Northern Lights can be seen when the phenomenon of energetic particles entering the earth's magnetosphere, peaks and presents a spectacular display, which plays poltergeist-like havoc with electrical devices that are operated by remote control.
The absence of the sun presents physical and psychological problems during the morketidon, or murky period, when the number of suicides in the area suddenly soars. In this city, which for just one month was Norway's capital, a pastor becomes overworked during the morketidon, helping to lessen the depression, battling with a city which has become labelled 'North of the Moral Circle' or even 'Paris of the North' because of its high birth rate and concentration of sexual diseases. morketidon has been blamed for sexual deviation and low morals, compensating for the SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, which beleaguers the local populous. Ancient people even believed Tromso to be the edge of the world.

Fr Jorgensen had just been counselling a young man suffering from SAD. 'I find I cannot physically smile,' the young man complained, 'I try, but the muscles just won't respond, then my whole body feels as though it's pulling down. I am not old, Father, and yet I no longer feel young. I should be effervescing with life. I have tried to apply my faith but I then see the futility of it all. What are we heading for? We reproduce, we educate our children who slave away to make a living when they grow up. Then there is free time - but why are we wanting to get rid of time when we should be enjoying every moment of it, is it because we are bored, or is it we want death to come and free us from our bonds? There is a French saying about the more things change, the more they stay the same. Can there be a God who just wants us on earth to kowtow to Him? Is He that vain?'
Fr Jorgensen realised that this man had spent much time looking for answers to important questions about life before giving serious consideration to taking his own life.
'Whilst life unfurls repetitively, the earth continues to revolve so that there is more progress within a slow continuity, do you get what I mean?' The young man looked puzzled. 'The overall picture is that man is learning, advancing, all the time but unless you are God who sees the overall picture, rather like an architect looking over his model, it is difficult for an individual so small as yourself to see this in perspective. Look at the vast progress in technology - in war, for example - compare the surgical precision of the technology installed in the Stealth F117A bombers, invisible to radar, an eerily silent machine that can put a laser-guided bomb down the chimney of a house or through a sky-light. Could you imagine journalists reporting back the progress of the war to television in Hitler’s time? Medicine has reached the heights never before believed possible – surgeons able to separate Siamese twins so that at least one of them has a good chance of survival - heart and liver transplants, altering genes to change the course of nature, not that I believe everything is good. I for one do not condone virgin births - apart from the fact that it is interfering with nature, it is going to create the problems of one-parent families that we are suffering at present - and now they are talking about cloning humans - you say that we are standing still? Surely our purpose on earth is to enjoy what we have been given, and in return we must give of our own efforts and of ourselves, even if it is such a small thing as making a little patch of wasteland into a beautiful garden.'
'Then someone comes along and turns it all into a dung heap again.'
'Dung fertilises the land my son and so it is not necessarily returned to the wasteland it was. Furthermore, whilst it was a beautiful garden, did it not give pleasure? Consider yourself - how many incapacitated people would give their all to have a perfectly normal healthy body like yours that you want to throw on the rubbish dump?'
'Forgive me Father, but without the sun there is no light in my life, I cannot see; I cannot tell the difference between night and day.'
'Yes, dognvill, that's what they call it I believe. It is not always easy to see ahead clearly, even when the sun is shining there are often lofty mountains or forests that block it out, so we have to be prepared for these occasions. You have a lovely wife and children - can you not think of them, how they would be without you? They need you, my son.'
'What good is a glum husband and a nagging father?'
'Do you think that you are the only person who feels like this?' He recalled a nurse who had told him that once a person was set on suicide, nothing would deter them. They may defer the day, she said, but they will succeed in the end. But Strom Jorgensen was not a fatalist, he was sure he could channel this man's resolve.
'Get your coat, my friend and let's take a walk,' the priest urged.
They ventured down to the harbour square where the priest drew the young man's attention to the statue of Roald Amundsen, the explorer, who discovered the South Pole in 1928. 'There is a man who lived in much the same way as yourself but his resolve to come to terms with nature was intransigent.'
'Man can do something like that, perhaps write books and their name lives on for ever but how can an insignificant man like me leave his mark on the world? Even pop stars come and go, comedians and sportsmen have their heydays even though many of them have severe personal tragedies that the world does not always hear about – however, their fame is forgotten after a couple of generations.'
'Precisely! The wheels continue to turn and we must each do our bit to keep them turning - producing children in itself is a good enough reason for your being on earth, we are only but temporary custodians of this marvellous planet like a passing cloud.' The young man wanted to take that further but decided against it, knowing the priest to be married only to the Church.
They both stared out to sea in the grey of the afternoon, each deep in thought, the priest trying to fathom the depths of his parishioner's mind, the young man mulling over the priest's words and trying to put them into some sort of order.
‘To put your problems in perspective will not be resolved in a matter of a single chat with you, it will take time; you must come and see me at my home regularly for further counselling sessions. Meanwhile I will come and see your family in your house from time to time and try to sort things out at their end. I can just hear your children asking why their daddy isn't there and your wife searching for excuses to pacify them, trying to save your face, trying hard to take your place if you go ahead with this crazy idea of yours to take your own life. Of course, you can take the alternative way out, you could move out of the area – I know, it would be difficult for you but you may have to take such a drastic measure in order to save the whole family.'
Tears began to flood the man's eyes as he personified the priest's words. Of course the priest is right, he thought, but I am so hopeless – I am a huge coward.
'When we are young we expect our parents and teachers to encourage us but there comes an age when we become the inspiration for others.' The priest hesitated. 'So you haven't the guts to go through with it then?' he asked in a more sympathetic tone.
'Not that way.'
'How then? Cut your wrists, put your head in the oven? I thought you were wanting a pleasant way out, looking forward to death but you know very well that the Church cannot possibly support you in such action that is alien to our belief.'
'There are ways - an overdose and I won’t know anything about it.'
'Until someone finds you and your stomach is pumped out in hospital. You wake up and then you will believe you are a failure, a gutless failure, you can't even kill yourself. Then you will feel far, far worse, my son, believe me, or, on the other hand your body may live but your mind could become a vegetable unable to think or even communicate with your loved ones.'
The two continued walking now that the man had bitten at the worm but he had a long way to go before he felt that he could save the man's life to the extent of his not wanting to make any further attempts at some later time. Yes indeed, it would take a long time and a lot of courage and perseverance.
‘Here’s a seat, just let me show you something,’ the priest suggested. As they sat down the cleric took out a notepad from his pocket. ‘Just think back to the moment you decided you wanted to end it all - go on, close your eyes and relive the moment. What were your thoughts at the time, what was your inner mind telling you?’
‘I’m a failure, there’s nothing to live for, there is nothing left in life, I’m a burden to others, everyone is against me, I have no energy, I resent others.’
‘OK, stop there. I’ve written them down. Let’s take each of these points one at a time. Let’s start with I am a failure. Did you fail to produce children?’
‘No.’
‘Have you really and honestly been a complete failure at work?’
‘No.’
‘Have you failed to provide for yourself or your family?’
‘No.’
‘So it’s not really true that you are a failure is it?’
‘No.’ The priest wrote down false against the man’s first statement.
By the time the priest had gone over all the points in a similar way he looked at the young man and said, ‘So, all this time your mind has been telling you lies and you didn’t realise it. So what is there left to be depressed about? Now that you know you have been listening to lies, the next stage is to ask yourself what positive steps you are going to take. First of all you have to forgive yourself for your resentment then you should feel free to become positive, more assertive.
'I rarely confide my own personal problems with others, but I feel that there are occasions when it is necessary - all lives are precious. Yes, even yours. Perhaps when you hear a little of me, you will be able to see your own life in perspective and respect yourself in a way you have never appreciated before.
'Before entering the priesthood I was in a position of trust, serving and protecting this multi-directional nation of ours. I believed, and still believe, that it is worth protecting. I had to lead a celibate life in order to protect my job. I was too susceptible to blackmail but even under microscopic scrutiny I could not be compromised. In order to conceal my own sexual leaning I had to flirt with girls and be seen to be in their company, but it was purgatory for me, inwardly there bloomed a sadness, which stemmed from hidden roots. I too questioned life, wondered why I was made so that I could not have children of my own. The lineage would stop with me - I have no brothers or sisters. It is a hard cross to bear, believe me, my son, I would cry myself to sleep on many a night because I had as much need to love and be loved as anyone else and my soul cried out for it. I felt I had been cheated, denied. My life was soulless, empty and so I concentrated my life into my work to smother my inner feelings until eventually they became numb. I never once blamed God - I more sought his help in containing my problem. I left the service and decided to become God's servant - if I could contain my desires all those years then I knew I could do so always. The yearning for human comfort is still there but it is only quite feeble now. So you see, my son, I am envious of you - yes, of you. You who can love freely and be loved in return too. What is worse and more shameful is that my own faith in a creator, a God whom I have served for years, I am now beginning to question – yes, me, a priest, becoming agnostic.'
'But you needn't have shut yourself away in the Church, you could have been yourself and taken another job. It's accepted in so many circles now. You have punished yourself unnecessarily.'
'That's as may be but I know I couldn't have sustained a happy relationship and would have condemned my soul into orbit, just searching and never finding. I couldn’t take that.'
'But you haven't lived, Father, you have only existed and yet you talked a few moments ago about being put on the earth to enjoy it.'
'I have gained immense joy from mending other lost souls - it is a more lasting and satisfactory pleasure. It would be hard to prove that to you or even to convince you by relating a few of the more desperate cases I have encountered as a priest, but as you know I could never divulge anyone's name and so I shall make no effort to convince you. If you now think that you can still be of this world, I should naturally respect your confidence - I do not tell everyone these things, in fact it has only been on the very exceptional occasion when all else has failed that I have confessed to my past.'
'You must have considered I was a pretty hopeless case then?'
'Only you will be able to answer that, my son.'
'Thank you Father, you have lifted a great weight from me. I must leave you now and buy presents for my family for there is much to celebrate and much to look forward to. I will remember you in my prayers, that I promise.' With that he bade farewell to the priest.
Fr Jorgensen returned home and picked up the paper - it was then that he read of the skiing disaster. He had to get to the minister and tell him that it was no accident.

Sven Olafsen was indeed a very lucky man for not only had he cheated death but his injuries were only superficial - it appeared he had not suffered any internal damage. The initial blow from the fall had caused concussion and only little of his body had escaped with minor cuts and bruises, the only broken bones were a couple of ribs and his left arm.
'I hurried from Tromso when I read the account of your accident in the paper,' the priest said after introducing himself. 'You see, minister, I was a government agent before entering the priesthood and I still know the identity of many assassins. Your so-called friend met his comeuppance. Oh yes, he was a school teacher all right - and a skiing instructor too. He most probably told you the truth about himself - he just omitted one small fact - that he was a professional assassin and a member of a very well trained and organised terrorist group.'
'Was?' queried the minister.
'Ironically it was he who met with a fatal accident. God was truly on the side of the righteous.'
Olafsen tried hard to remember the events of the day. 'He wasn't near me when this happened, as far as I can recollect - it must have been an accident. In fact, he was ahead of me on the slope, I lost sight of him as my eyes blurred.' Here he stopped and appeared to stare into the past. 'Now come to think of it I became dizzy and I couldn't see clearly.'
'Drugged, I guess, but I wonder how he administered it so that it would take effect at the right moment.'
'He usually prepared the food - that could have been a possibility.'
'No, no... that would be too risky. Did you walk far to the slope?'
'Langer suggested some cross country first.'
'Then there must have been some sort of contact.'
'I remember very little I'm afraid.'
'No matter - the important thing now is to establish his motive. The important fact is that he had attached himself to some terrorist group - the name eludes me at the moment. Maybe it will come to me later.'
'He wanted me out of action obviously by the sound of what you say, - but why? I can't think of anything of sufficient importance to merit this sort of action.'
I should appreciate it if you would tell me of any engagements you have planned for the near future.'
The minister outlined the two events. The priest went to the window and stared out through his thoughts, not seeing what was outside, only a quick mental scan.
'I think it is more than likely the latter,’ he decided, ‘but I can't think why unless it's money for their coffers.'
He was silent for a while and then turned to Olafsen, 'I remember now, it was the Phoenix Group he was associated with - one of those factions with their heads in the clouds.'
'I can't say I've heard of them.'
'Look, it's essential you get yourself better and attend the conference. If Phoenix get any inkling that you are well enough to go ahead, they will certainly send someone in to finish off the job. I ask a favour of you, minister.'
'I hardly think that I'm in a position to do anything for you at the moment.'
'It's nothing like that. I want to accompany you - for your own protection. I was going to suggest a total news blackout or even an article in the national press stating that your condition is now critical and it is doubtful you will recover - but that doesn't help us get to the root of the problem - I would like, with your permission sir, to flush them out and so it would mean a truthful report of your condition - but that would be more dangerous.'
'I'm prepared to accept that - if I'm in a position to go, that is.'
'In fact I would like to go one stage further - a telephone call will excuse me duties in Tromso. I think you need protection right away and I would like to provide you with that - if you trust me.'
'Thank you, Father, but there's no need to go to so much trouble on my behalf.'

Now that the British minister had passed beyond Belgium, Fox could call upon Jacques Lemans to finish off the job Kurt Langer had set out to fulfil. Lemans was a hard man by any standards and tended to act on the spur of the moment which made him unpredictable and all the more dangerous, more likely to make mistakes. He was free, and was the nearest member of the group to the present situation in Oslo. It was essential that he took out Olafsen before he left the hospital - if it could not be made to look like an accident, too bad - as long as he covered his tracks. Another failure and a photo in the paper would raise too many questions in the wrong places.
Lemans had handled the Belgium phase well and had affected a smooth hand-over to the Germans in the case of the British minister but now success in Olso would depend on acting before Olafsen left hospital.

The next day saw a change in the minister's condition as he relapsed into unconsciousness, once more causing much concern to the hospital staff. The priest was not allowed to see him but he was fortunate enough in being given accommodation in the hospital from where he could see the entrance to the minister's ward.
It was suspected that a clot on the brain was the cause of the relapse but an emergency scan failed to confirm this. It was later revealed that it was a recurrence of the concussion suffered from the blow. Fr Jorgensen made it his business to make a list of everyone who entered the minister's ward, taking note of their descriptions but staff would be hard to recognise if they wore a face mask, so he devised a means of overcoming the problem. He put the idea to the staff who agreed to stick psychedelic patches on the heels of the shoes and again on the chest pocket of all those visiting Olafsen's ward.
The ploy paid off. The following afternoon, Lemans ensconced himself amongst the scurrying visitors. He enquired about the location of Sven Olafsen. The nurse was new to the hospital and was only too willing to divulge his whereabouts. The minister was still heavily sedated after recovering consciousness the previous night and so Lemans was told that Olafsen was not able to receive any visitors. 'I would very much like to send him a little something to help speed his recovery,' he told the nurse, 'to which ward shall I address it?'
Seeing no harm in a seemingly innocuous request, the naive nurse unwittingly gave the terrorist the information he wanted. He located the ward and set about finding himself a suitable spot where he could bide his time. It took him all of two minutes to discover a walk-in cleaners' cupboard from where he could observe any to-ing and fro-ing. He needed to purloin garments that would render him beyond suspicion.
Time passed slowly as visitors came and went but he noticed that no-one had been allowed to enter the minister's ward. The corridors were quiet once again. He had to move fast when the opportunity arose.
Nearly three hours after he had secreted himself in the cupboard, he heard a slight movement in the distance - a trolley with a squeaky wheel. Opening the door just a crack he could afford himself a view of the greater part of the corridor and saw a male nurse pushing a treatment trolley. The squeaking ceased as the nurse called at a ward, then the sound occurred again and drew closer. Progress was slow as the nurse wended his way nearer to the stranger.
Lemans waited until the trolley had passed his hideout and launched himself out of the cupboard as though he had been fired from a cannon clasped his hand over the nurse's mouth and drove home the hypodermic with his free hand. There was no-one else in sight so he dragged the body into the cupboard and hastily removed the man's overall, not bothering to bind or gag him - there was no time for that - anyway, he should be miles away by the time the nurse regained his senses.
What Lemans failed to notice was that someone else was keeping a wary eye on that sector of the hospital. Leaving his door slightly ajar, the priest heard the squeak of the trolley near the minister's ward and peered through the crack in the doorway. All was well, he was wearing the identification on his white overall, so he closed the door quietly. The minister's door was visible through the keyhole and as an afterthought Fr Jorgensen decided to double check - the whole purpose of the two identification strips, just in case some-one decided to swap clothes. An assailant would be unlikely to exchange shoes, hence no reason for the stickers on the back. Mr Average would never notice. The adrenalin started pumping as the priest uttered an expletive unbecoming of a man of his vocation. There were no identification strips on the man's shoes.
Lemans left the trolley to the side of the minister's door and picked from it a selection of pills and a hypodermic - there was no time to check the bottles for the correct capsules in case there was someone on guard the other side of the door. He eased open the door, taking in the scene - no-one else in attendance and the minister sleeping fitfully. Excellent, he thought, makes the job that much easier.
Lemans entered the man's room, the priest didn't have a weapon - he had to act fast. Lemans removed one of the pillows and placed it on Olafsen's face, pressing down with enormous force so that the minister had no chance of fighting him off should he awake. In fact he was awake all the time - he had shut his eyes to rest them but still feeling the effects of the drugs from the previous day he wasn't yet fully alert. Impotent - quite unable to scream, unable to breathe, he thought of the priest who had visited him earlier, or was it the same day, he had no idea of time. Perhaps the priest was not still in the hospital - even if he had stayed, his suspicions may not have been aroused anyway. It would take a strong person to remove this behemoth.
Olafsen felt the pressure on the pillow slacken momentarily. He could hear a dull sound - perhaps there was somebody in the room trying to pull this monster off him. Whoever it was appeared to be unsuccessful as the pressure was on again. The minister tried not to panic; he prayed that the end wouldn't come this way.
Fr Jorgensen was pulling with all his might, hands around the assailant's throat but it made no impression, the Belgian hung on knowing it would only be a matter of seconds before he had accomplished his mission - anything after that didn't matter. Terrorists had become fanatical to the extent of sacrificing their own lives to meet the ends of their cause.
In desperation the priest ran out of the room and grabbed the first hypodermic he saw on the trolley, filled it with a nearby white liquid and tore back into the room. Anything was worth a try - with luck he might even manage an air bubble. He leapt at the Belgian, plunging the needle to its full length into the man's neck, pushing until the phial was spent.
The Belgian panicked, not knowing what was going to happen to him. 'I give you just twenty seconds before you start to feel dizzy,' the priest bluffed. Then Lemans released the pressure on the pillow and fled out of the room trying to wrench the protruding length of the hypodermic from him. Would he make the stairs - he would more than likely collapse before he reached the bottom he thought so he steadied himself on the supporting rail. His neck was throbbing but whatever was in the syringe did not seem to be taking effect yet. He was still fully alert and able to escape, not knowing that he had been pumped full of penicillin.
Strom Jorgensen hastily removed the pillow from the minister and pressed the emergency bell. The staff were very much on their mettle as two nurses appeared on the scene within moments. The priest was economical with his explanation as a further stampede of staff materialised to assist the tensile nurses struggling to attach an oxygen mask to Olafsen.
Now that the incident had become widely known, there was no way that it could be kept from the police who insisted on posting a twenty-four hour guard outside the minister's room. Olafsen's strong constitution helped him withstand the attack, coupled with swift action and expertise from the medical staff. Neither the minister nor the priest acknowledged the attack to be connected with terrorists, but each knew that this would not be the last they would hear from the Phoenix Group. -


CHAPTER 8

Being suspended twenty feet in the air without a rope had isolated Misty and Njoro but this state of impotence didn't last long. They found themselves gradually being lowered back to earth on a hidden hydraulic system. Njoro tore his shirt and tied a piece around an upper branch of an acacia tree then a further section around a lower branch, both out of sight to the casual passer-by but at least they would be able to locate the spot again.
'Well, I suppose that means they won't be coming back in a hurry,' Misty said as Njoro stared at him blankly; the soldier had momentarily forgotten that the native couldn't understand him.
They lost no time in waking the other two and then equipped themselves with some of their weaponry and ammunition. 'Quickly now,' Misty ordered, 'we need to catch them up and see what's going on.'
Njoro led the way, carving out a path of least resistance so that there was no likelihood of running into anything solid.
Within the half hour they had caught up with the soldiers - they had to find out what they were up to. Wending their way to the assembled body they concealed themselves in some scrub within earshot. Schnipfler was audibly out of breath. Misty motioned him to stifle the sound, which carried alarmingly in the night air and could well be detected by the nearest soldiers.
The massive Ndebele who had terrorised the Foreskins stood on one of the armoured trucks and addressed the assemblage, which could not have numbered more than a hundred all told.
'If this is executed swiftly and with precision, no-one need get hurt - a bloodless coup is what we aim at. The television and radio stations and Parliament House will be in our control well before dawn but much depends on those of you who are responsible for capturing the ministers in their respective homes. Again I urge you to show restraint and respect - there will be no looting neither will there be any raping.'
'He's one to talk,' Misty muttered to himself. ‘Hypocrite!’
'Violence is to be used only as a last resort. Once you have your allocated family under house arrest you are to report the fact to me. The president comes here. Use only the minimum of words: the code word for a minister and confirmation of his arrest, you say that the numbered area is "secure". Those travelling by road will leave in ten minutes' time - helicopters in eighty minutes.'
Senderai translated for Misty and told him of their plans. Misty waited for the cover of general movement before making a start, then the four sped away out of earshot.
'It's a bloody coup - we've got to alert Harare right away. Senderai, get through to that man of yours and tell him what's happening. He must inform the president right away, then get on to Foreskin and tell him we are on our way to pick him up.'
'This I didn't expect,' Schnipfler sighed, 'What are we going to do?'
'Senderai,' Misty called, ignoring Schnipfler's question, 'get on to your man again, I want a helicopter here within the hour, by which time we should be able to make the water hole we saw as we flew in; we shall be out of earshot, hopefully.'
Returning to their repository in the rock cleft, they retrieved their equipment and moved off, Senderai and Njoro leading the way.
Misty turned at the sound of a disturbed bird behind them. Someone was following them. He had no idea of telling if those following had realised how many of them there were, so he took no chance. 'Senderai, quickly explain to Njoro that I want him to set an ambush with me.' Njoro insisted it would be preferable to take this man single-handed. Reluctantly Misty consented.
As the three set off, Njoro melted into the surroundings immediately becoming part of the night but with attentive eyes, watching and waiting.
The soldier was good, a trained tracker - a scout of value to his company no doubt. There was no sound as he stealthily stalked his victims. Njoro had to weigh up whether the soldier would be missed in the next hour - and whether they would send any more out after him. He doubted if anyone would come looking for him before they were well on their way, but for safety he ought to let him stray a little further away from his company before making a strike. Then he noticed the man was gaining on them at an alarming rate so he had to be dealt with right away.
Njoro offloaded his backpack, took out a knife and shadowed the soldier, increasing his pace but the man sensed his presence and swung around, pistol in hand.
As Njoro saw the movement, he dived and rolled to the side in one as bullets burst through the space where he was standing only a second beforehand. Now he was at a disadvantage - he had been unearthed and he had ditched his guns.
The other three heard the shots and knew that they weren’t from Njoro - it wasn't his style to shoot the person he was tracking, especially at night - it was far too noisy.
However, he had youth and agility on his side. The others back-tracked thinking that Njoro could have fallen victim to the gunfire. The soldier then sprayed the undergrowth with his machine pistol where he had seen the youngster roll. This at least told the others that Njoro had survived the first burst. Njoro was far too quick for him and circled around, running into Misty who thrust his weapon into the native's hand but he brushed it away, signalling for him to get out of the way, and then he was gone, shadowing the soldier who went to investigate whether he had scored but the young Njoro flung himself at the soldier who crumpled up, firing his machine pistol wildly, scattering roosting birds, two of which dropped to the ground as the stray bullets found flesh and bone. Njoro wasted no time and flung himself at the flailing body, cruelly turning the knife as he pulled it out, tearing the flesh and then he thrust it into the soldier's neck. He dragged the body into some skeletal shrubs and covered it with leaves.
The other three waited at the ready in case they were needed, bracing their rifles as they heard footsteps advancing towards them. They relaxed as they saw Njoro's face light up into a beaming grin, his white teeth psychedelic against the darkness of the night.
'I wonder if he found us by accident or if someone else had sent him after us?' Schnipfler queried.
'Whatever, after all that noise we've got to get the hell out of here as quickly as we can,' urged Misty.
The helicopter pilot felt uneasy at having to wait for his passengers who had been delayed through no fault of their own. 'I don't like it,' the pilot complained to the uniformed man behind him, 'anyone can come running out of the scrub, a whole army, and we wouldn't stand a hope in hell.'
The soldier was not troubled at the pilot's concern and shrugged off the remark, confident that only the right people would turn up - and before very long.
Sure enough his unspoken reply confirmed his thoughts as first Senderai then the other three materialised out of the night, all breaking into a run as they saw the chopper which coughed into life as soon as the pilot caught sight of the Ranger.
At first the four men hadn't noticed the figure in the shadows behind the pilot and they were momentarily startled at hearing his voice.
'Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Colonel Lobengula. You had trouble on the way? I heard some shooting.' He was a man of very few words which hadn't gone unnoticed.
It was Senderai who replied and explained the reason for their delay. The colonel just nodded acknowledgement as his mind veered in another direction.
Misty placed himself next to the pilot and lost no time in issuing instructions, which angered the colonel. 'This is a military matter and so the pilot takes his orders from me,' Lobengula snarled.
'With due respect,' Misty retorted, 'we are the ones who requested the transport in the first place - we are guests of Minister Pieter Foreskin, we must get to him as soon as possible.'
'There's no need to worry about the president. My men will take good care of him, they have been instructed to take him to a hide-out where he will be well protected. I have also ordered my best men to the capital. They are well armed, Mr Foggle.' Misty was taken aback at the use of his name. 'The television and radio stations are at this moment as we speak, a hive of activity - this terrorist group will not stand a chance. I gather you yourself are going to take care of Parliament House. The respective buildings have all been evacuated and an impenetrable defence set up within them.
Schnipfler was impressed with the cool efficiency of the man and just hoped that he was not becoming over confident. The sagacious soldier had already eyed their bulky equipment as they off-loaded it into the helicopter. Schnipfler wondered whether they would be arrested when it all blew over. At least he had accepted them to a certain degree by letting them take charge of Parliament House - he most probably received orders from Foreskin anyway.
The pilot lost no time in finding the Foreskins’ ranch and put down near the old burnt-out farmhouse.
A bleary-eyed minister was rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he answered the door. He had returned to bed after receiving the call. There was a marked expression of surprise at seeing Colonel Lobengula with Misty although he had been forewarned about having to evacuate.
The colonel confirmed the situation and urged the minister to grab a few essentials and abandon the place as soon as he could. 'Mr Foggle will take you to a place of safety, minister. I shall leave you shortly but you will be told as soon as it is safe for you to return.'
By the time Foreskin was ready, Njoro had picked up the sound of an approaching helicopter whilst he waited at the door of their own chopper. He ran to the colonel. 'Yes, I had heard it myself - it's too late,' Lobengula conceded, 'they'll spot us as soon as we take off.'
Misty wanted to take charge and had to choke back orders in the presence of Colonel Lobengula, but the man knew his job as he took the words directly out of Misty's mouth. 'Weapons?' he asked indicating the bulk the men dragged on board. 'Grab all your equipment! All of you, out of the helicopter and follow me!'
The uniformed colonel led them to the nearest cover hoping that they hadn't been seen.
The approaching soldiers seemed confused - the farmhouse only a partial shell and uninhabitable, a helicopter near the smaller house. They were ruthless and left nothing to chance. A flash in the sky indicated they had released a rocket. One minute the helicopter was standing there like a roosting bird, the next it had exploded in a conflagration of pyrotechnics. As Misty struggled to assemble his rocket launcher, Tom's house, where the minister had been staying, disintegrated amidst the two hundred foot fireball that now engulfed the remains.
'Well there goes our only hope of escape,' Misty exclaimed to no-one in particular.
'Wait!' shouted Lobengula. 'I need that chopper. You!' he pointed to Schnipfler, 'Give the minister an automatic rifle and stay here with him.' He gave the others their instructions and waited. 'I too would have liked to see their machine blown out of the sky.'
'If they believe they've succeeded in their mission they won't land. Either that or a whole pack of them will burst out before their machine touches the ground.'
'Well - if they don't land then you'll have to blast them. If not, then we follow the plan we discussed.'
A feeling of relief and gratitude beset the colonel whilst Misty felt a tinge of disappointment as the gyrating machine began to descend.
Misty took up position on the port side of the machine, rocket launcher on his shoulder. Njoro was at his side once again with his machine pistol.
On the starboard side the colonel and Senderai stood guard to mow down any who disembarked that side. The problem would be the pilot - he would just as likely take off and make a break for it as soon as he hears shooting.
The rotors had created a dust storm forcing the alighting terrorists to throw up an arm in protection, so they were not immediately aware of the reception that awaited them. Colonel Lobengula wasted no time when he realised there was no-one alighting from the starboard side of the machine; he rushed to the cockpit and pointed his submachine gun at the pilot, motioning him to get out. The sound of the welcoming machine-fire from the other side had decided the issue for him so he climbed out without switching off. He was the sole survivor.
'OK!' shouted the colonel, 'get the equipment on board. Senderai - go get the minister and Schnipfler.'
Njoro covered the pilot while Misty took the controls; he didn't dare risk the pilot flying it with them aboard, even with a gun at his head; he could easily let the machine drop out of the sky if he thought his life were threatened.
They put down Lobengula in a field on the outskirts of the city where some of his men had already assembled, then they flew on to what was always known as Cecil Square, now called Harare Square, landing near the Harare Club.
The square was silent apart from the gentle splashing of the fountain amidst the ghostly forms of the flame trees. On approaching, Misty had noticed the flat roof of the Harare Club library from where there was a splendid view of Parliament House. There was no time to deploy men inside the building; he hurled a grappling iron onto the roof of the library in hopes that it would latch itself onto something solid. His second attempt was successful. He and Njoro scaled the building whilst Senderai and Schnipfler attached rocket launchers and machine pistols onto the rope, which Njoro hauled up after him.
In another area of the town, Lobengula's men were busy establishing themselves in the television and radio buildings, which are always prime targets in an attempted coup. They set up a defence for the land attack, which was expected any moment.
Schnipfler untied the terrorists' helicopter pilot and with Senderai's gun trained on him, persuaded him to fly the machine and conceal it in the Harare club courtyard in readiness for a quick getaway.
The odd sleepy face appeared briefly between curtains in the Meikles Hotel and seeing nothing out of the usual, retired back to bed only to reappear at the chorus of approaching low-flying helicopters.
Pieter Foreskin took refuge in the Deanery, which was sandwiched between the cathedral and Parliament House.
The task of eliminating the terrorists would be made so much more difficult if their men were put down and allowed to dissipate. Misty's plan was simple - the helicopters had to be blown out of the night air. He just hoped he didn't find himself blowing up Lobengula's troops, but this area was supposed to be left to him. It might just be that Lobengula didn't have sufficient confidence in Misty and perhaps send in a few troops to help out. Too bad - no time to study sentiment.
'Well here goes,' Misty said as he rested the rocket launcher on his shoulder and aimed at the first chopper. He made signs for Njoro to do likewise and take out the second.
The night sky erupted as the two machines exploded into huge balls of fire on their approach to the government building.
'Good God!' yelled the pilot of the third helicopter as he swung his machine around 180 degrees in panic to avoid the holocaust and the descending debris - in so doing he caught his rotors on the ensuing machine causing them both to plunge through the roof of the cathedral and explode in the nave.
Foreskin had taken refuge in the deanery and had briefed the cathedral dignitary about what was going on. The Dean had no idea what was going on and so wasn't prepared for the resulting explosion nor more especially the demolition of his cathedral.
'We have to get in there,' Foreskin urged.
'But what if some of them have survived? They would gun us down on sight,' complained the scared cleric.
'I doubt very much if they have but I have this just in case,' he said indicating his machine pistol. 'We must get the front door opened and the fire service and ambulance here immediately, otherwise you will have no cathedral left at all.'
It was difficult to estimate whether the dean was more concerned about the people who had crashed through his roof or about the cathedral building, but his expression of sheer resignation turned to one of horror as they surveyed the scene. The heat from the burning wreckage held them back. At first they hadn't noticed the body that had been thrown clear of the wreckage but then Foreskin heard the groans emanating from the left somewhere amidst the chairs. He tugged at the dean's arm and together they hurried towards the survivor - those who hadn't died from the crash had been burnt to death. Foreskin saw the huge black figure twisted in an incredible position, a metal shard protruding from his abdomen. The minister's stomach did a fast spin as he recognised his children's assailant. For a moment something inside him wanted to let this man suffer cruelly. He was now dressed in a blood-soaked general's uniform with a gold phoenix on his brown dislodged beret. The dean noticed the minister's recognition momentarily and was frozen into immobility. For the first time in his life he didn't know what to do next. 'We dare not move him, he's in a bad way,' the cleric murmured.
Despite the man's hopeless condition, his eyes registered recognition as Pieter Foreskin leaned over him. He knew how the minister must be feeling and now he wanted to be put out of his misery - a single bullet would do it - his lips feebly formed a plea for help as he tried to extend his arm to give substance to his cry. Foreskin wondered, no, knew, what the man would do if their roles had been reversed, and was secretly tempted to do the same, but instead he turned to the dean and asked, 'Did you phone for an ambulance?'
The question was answered by the sound of sirens wailing as both ambulance and fire-fighting teams arrived simultaneously, two ambulance men bearing a stretcher, were waved forward by the dean. 'He's alive, but only just, he's in a bad way,' the cleric shouted.
Meanwhile the firemen pushed their way in with their equipment and proceeded to douse the flames with some sort of foam. As the fire died down there was a giant creaking followed by a splintering sound as a further section of the roof collapsed, pinning one of the firemen to the ground.
The first paramedic from the ambulance gave the terrorist general a shot of morphine and then abandoned him in favour of the newly injured fireman. The trapped man's colleagues managed to lift away the beam that had pinned him down but it was obvious that the man's back was broken. The medical men managed to ease him onto a stretcher as their second vehicle arrived on the scene. A quick word and the new team ran straight to the black general but they found he was no longer breathing.
There were many badly charred bodies in and around the wreckage of the two machines - the fire chief had counted fifteen but it was difficult to be certain at this stage. The general had been flying in a Scorpion helicopter with just his aide and the pilot, whereas the other bodies were those of a backup team of terrorists aiming to take control of Parliament House.
The firemen eventually brought the blaze under control. The dean could be seen converting the damage into the cost in numerous figures. It was surprising that the only things to catch fire in the building were some of the chairs and fallen rafters. There was a certain amount of smoke damage but little else had been affected surprisingly enough. The roof was the expensive item and the gaping hole precluded using the building for worship in the foreseeable future.
Certain that they had prevented any take-over of Parliament House, Misty's team joined the others at the cathedral. The activity had brought people out of their beds, some with coats over their nightwear, flocking to the building, staring in at the unholy intrusion but they could not advance very far because they were held back by police.
'Minister Foreskin?' an officer enquired, and when he noticed Foreskin's nod, drew closer and said, 'I'm afraid I have some bad news for you sir.' The minister thought at least he was in the right place for a quick prayer and made the sign of the cross as he asked his maker to ensure that his family were all right. – ‘The President has been kidnapped.'
'But I thought....'
'I know. He was well guarded but these fellows came in the People's Army uniforms. The others believing them to be their own men, let them in and legged it.'
Misty was unable to hear the conversation but he could see from Foreskin's expression that it was bad news. He soon learnt of the kidnapping and turned to the other three and said, 'We believe we know where they will take him. I doubt if we can get there before him but it's worth a try - we'll let Lobengula know what's happening once we are airborne.'
Their mistake was assuming that the terrorists had failed in their attempted coup. Lobengula's men had already destroyed the helicopter attack on the television and radio stations with as much success, if not more than Misty's team, because they hadn't damaged any buildings in their efforts, but he deployed his men in readiness for the land assault which he knew would come - something Misty had overlooked at his end. As Njoro was climbing back onto the roof to retrieve their hardware, truck loads of terrorists appeared simultaneously from each corner of the square, their carbines flaring haphazardly. Schnipfler and Misty managed to get to the Harare Club's ladies' entrance but Senderai took a bullet in the chest and fell instantly. Fortunately they had already ensured the ladies’ entrance was open for quick access to the courtyard in case of emergency. Misty and Schnipfler each picked up a machine pistol from the helicopter and made their way upstairs to the library.
'There goes our interpreter,' Schnipfler said laconically. 'We could do with some uniforms but the way Njoro's going with that rocket launcher, there's no chance of salvaging anything.'
They found their way up to the library, knocking out window panes with the butts of their pistols. 'Keep me covered!' Misty shouted as he saw the rope still dangling in front of a window, which he promptly smashed and climbed his way to the flat roof, to Njoro, motioning him to stop firing. They both lowered themselves down into the library, rocket launcher slung across their backs. Schnipfler was busy firing at the remaining trucks. 'We need the uniforms,' Misty shouted. 'I'll go and get the chopper and put down in the square - see if you can salvage some once you've quietened that lot over there.'
After a few more bursts they decided to leave using a longer way - no use presenting the opposition with a sitting target. It was as well. By the time they were halfway downstairs there was an almighty report as the library was wiped out by a terrorist’s rocket. They didn't stop to look but quickly hid themselves behind the wall of the entrance as debris flew in all directions.
Njoro had spotted the launcher as he jinked across the road taking cover behind one of the trees in the square. He took his own launcher in hand, loaded and fired. Schnipfler sought the haven of another tree - Verdammt - only one more left; our last chance for uniforms, he cursed. He motioned to Njoro to put away his launcher and only use his machine pistol.
The terrorists in the remaining truck weren't over keen to remain in their vehicle after seeing the plight of the others so they scattered around the square, some taking advantage of the cover of the odd tree. There were just two of them against a dozen or more terrorists; the odds were well stacked against them, Schnipfler thought. Njoro went walkabouts on his jungle-stalking mission. He would have been far happier with a one-to-one situation from the point of view of surprise. He had spotted where most of the terrorists were deployed and edged his way round to them. He had broken the necks of two already and cut the throats of four others on his way before Schnipfler had fired a single shot.
It was difficult to cover for the young Njoro lest Schnipfler shot him by accident; in fact he had completely lost sight of the boy. Schipfler fired into the air to draw their fire and succeeded in locating two of their positions.
It's amazing how a few shots into the air work wonders in crowd control - there wasn't a spectator in sight any more. Schnipfler climbed one of the trees to gain a better view. Njoro had dealt with a further two but Schnipfler wasn't to know there were just four of them left now.
Two of the terrorists had the same idea as Njoro and had started to close in on him. Schnipfler had spotted the movement but couldn't warn his ally, they were each only two trees away from him. There was no way Schnipfler could pick them off. What a dead loss I am, he muttered under his breath - outnumbered four to one and I haven't hit one of them. Time to make my mark on this lot he affirmed and clambered down the tree.
Njoro waited spread-eagled along an overhanging bough. The two terrorists swung around as each caught sight of the other, surprise registering on their faces as their target had eluded them. There was no time to express horror as Njoro leapt out of the tree, banging their heads together in a resounding crack. One of the terrorists folded up but the other's head must have been made of steel - he lashed out at Njoro but the young Ndebele was ready for him, grasping the knife and wrenching it from him in one move. The man let out a groan and wrestled himself free, launching a kick thrust at Njoro's throat but he sidestepped and counter-attacked with a head flip and double thrust to the man's head. Seeing that the man was dazed he immediately followed up by grabbing the man's neck under his arm and then gave it a sharp twist with the palm of his free hand. There was a muted crack and then the body went limp - so then there were only two to go.
Thinking that Njoro was now weakened, one of the remaining two terrorists launched himself at the young man with a shrill shout, trying to demoralise him and put him off balance as he brought up his revolver and fired. Njoro was well versed in the wily tactics of opposition, young though he was. He saw the weapon and crouched, sweeping the man off his feet with a roundhouse as the shot went wild but the man still held onto his gun and sat up. There was no way he could miss now - this was the end. There was a resounding report that echoed around the square and the man's head disintegrated as Schnipfler fired not a moment too soon. Njoro saluted his thanks and signalled to Schipfler where the remaining terrorist was, motioning him to close in from the opposite direction as he set off towards the Meikles Hotel. Schnipfler's mind was focussed on recovering some uniforms and getting into the helicopter.
Suddenly there was a roar as the chopper appeared over the Harare Club. A body fell to the ground as Misty pushed out the terrorist pilot who fell screaming in panic. He scanned the area to see how things lay. He had no idea whether Njoro and Schnipfler were still alive. As he moved in towards the square he caught the movement of his two men. Seeing where they were headed he used his spotlight to seek out the terrorist who had long since abandoned his position and doubled round to the entrance of the Meikles Hotel. The terrorist could now see both men, moving in on the place he had vacated. He raised his Uzi and was about to spray them when he found himself blinded by the light from the hovering machine. He cursed and fired haphazardly into the blinding light but the shots went wild. He lowered his rifle and tried to step back further into the shadows. Misty was alert; he had seen the man and moved in on him - he stood no chance as Misty cut him down with fire from the machine.
Njoro heard the shot and stopped in his tracks, certain now that Misty had dealt with the last of the terrorists. He and Schnipfler walked out into the open, waving to Misty that all was clear and to set down the helicopter. Schipfler and Njoro moved to the nearest bodies and started stripping them of their uniforms. Having taken four sets they ran for the waiting transport and threw themselves on board as Misty took off in hot pursuit of the president. Maybe they had foiled an attempt in one spot but there were still many terrorists left in the country, each being prepared to die for their cause.




CHAPTER 9

Thailand's shocking record for the slaughter of its wealth of wild animals had aroused concern amongst environmentalists all around the world to the extent that petitions were drawn up to plead with the Thai government to act urgently to save and protect their wild animals, many fast becoming an endangered species. Traders would sell their spoils overtly - tigers' heads for use as stools, elephants' feet for waste-paper baskets or umbrella stands - the list was endless. The country was in a state of transience, waiting for the right moment to hold elections and so they turned a deaf ear to the pleas and protests of conservationists, save Pui who would not slacken her determined drive to protect the environment, not just in respect for the work the king had done over the decades.
Since the informed estimate in the late seventies when leading conservationists quoted a figure of 2,600 to 4,450 wild elephants in the country, their habitat had suffered considerably so that the elephant population was little over two thousand by the time Pui took office as minister for the environment in the newly elected civil government.
Now, visitors are most likely to find elephants in Khao Yai, one of the twelve national parks, or in the fifteen wildlife sanctuaries, but many wild elephants live outside these parks and it is difficult to assess their number.
Despite the fact that elephants received royal protection in 1901, the law was being ignored and mocked at by hunters, or rather poachers, still making a fat fortune. There is no hunting, capturing or exporting overtly but that does not mean it doesn't go on surreptitiously. Deforestation, destroying the elephants' habitat in itself is a problem, at the same time blocking their traditional migration routes. Between 1975 and 1979, over 10% of the elephant population had been reduced at the hands of poachers.
The number of domestic elephants declined from around 100,000 at the turn of the century to less than 5,000 in 1982. The country holds 20% of the world population of these animals and is still declining at about 5% a year. Now there was a catch twenty-two situation - working elephants were supplied from the wild elephant population but to do this now is illegal because of the protection of the endangered species, moreover, the birth-rate is low for reasons not yet fully understood. Most of the domestic elephants work in forestry, mainly log-hauling for which there is a special training centre thirty-five miles from Lampang in the north of the country.
Anyone attending an English fund-raising event will doubtlessly have come across a 'white elephant' stall, which sells people's junk. It is surprising that such throw-outs were given the name of the most sacred of all elephants, possibly more aptly named albino elephants. The most famous white elephants in history were the seven owned by King Mahacchakrapat. In 1563, King Burengong of Burma demanded two of these beautiful creatures and because King Mahacchakrapat refused, a war was begun which lasted twenty years, the Burmese invading Thailand and sacking the old capital Ayuttaya. It is believed, according to one of the Jataka Tales, that the Buddha spent his last incarnation as a white elephant called Chadanta. The origins of the belief in these rare creatures are still shrouded in mystery.
The criteria for grading these special animals are sevenfold and include skin colour, sex of the elephant, pattern of hairs of the tail, the number of toenails and the colour of the eyes; so it appears they are nominated as white by humans and not bred as a specific genus.
White elephants are significantly special in Thailand but are regarded as oddities in the neighbouring countries of Burma, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam. Today King Bhumibol has eleven of these sacred creatures living in the grounds of Chitrlada Palace.
The Thai government was powerless to act - they had laws to support them all right but the problem was catching the poachers. Now Pui realised that there were greater powers behind them, puppets being manipulated by some sinister organisation - so many that Pui had no idea where to start looking.
Kasemsri, the guard, was back on duty the following morning as promised. He relaxed as he strolled around the ornamental garden with Pui, listening to her deliberations. 'I think I may be able to help you - unofficially of course, and it would be dangerous but first I would need your personal consent - unofficially of course.'
'If there's a chance it will bring back my family I will go out into the jungle myself. Yes, I approve in principle so long as there is no danger to my family.'
'There will be nothing to connect me with your family. I believe they will be in no more danger than they are at present - and with a little bit of luck we can remove the threat completely.'
'We?' queried the minister.
'A close friend of mine fought alongside me in the Vietnamese war - his name is Sham Ntoc, a Vietnamese who is fluent in the Thai language amongst others. I know that he will help; he owes me a favour. We should be able to infiltrate the organisation, undercover of course. I have some leave due to me - I will arrange for a reliable replacement to look after you.'
Pui wondered whether she had done right in agreeing to this impossible mission. 'You mean I can't come with you?' Pui complained.
'The task I have in mind has no provision for an amateur - I do not wish to appear disrespectful, more especially an amateur who is a woman - it's too dangerous. I'm sorry.'
'I understand. When will you go?'
'I need time - first to get leave, then to find my friend and arrange the necessary equipment - perhaps in two days,' he estimated. 'More important - I need to make enquiries - discreetly of course.'
They both sat silently by the ornamental pond, staring at the fish deep in thought.

At thirty seven, Sham Ntoc, unlike Kasemsri, was small featured, standing only five feet four inches in height, but what he lacked in stature he compensated in suppleness, intelligence and guile, for his acumen in the martial arts had to be seen to be believed - the speed of his movements was beyond anyone's credibility, rather like a speeded up film.
He was working out in the Hua Mak indoor sports complex when he saw the tall Thai enter. He sped to him in a series of head flips, bounced to his feet and gave a wai in the traditional Thai greeting.
'Welcome, my friend, to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure? It's been a long time.'
'That's true. Work. As to your first question, I need your help urgently. Do you think that you could possibly leave your dojo for a few days?'
'Kim's here at the moment but she can contact cousin Poonsak, that's no problem.'
Kasemsri outlined the involvement whilst his friend listened with interest.
'Come on, let's go now, I'll tell you my proposal on the way - we've shopping to do and people to see. Perhaps I could start by using your phone, if you would kindly permit me?’

Ten visits and as many phone-calls later, Kasemsri and Sham Ntoc had finally made contact with the poachers, at least Sham did, for Kasemsri faded into the background once he had the relevant information because he intended working under cover. Despite their success in much of their spadework, they were no nearer to finding the name of the organisation in control of the illicit disregard for the wild animal kingdom. Kasemsri set up an outlet for animal spoils but alas, by some coincidence the usual dealers were foolish enough to get themselves arrested.
Sham Ntoc wanted a slice of the action and like Kasemsri, had to establish watertight credentials which somewhat ate into the coffers, but Pui was able to arrange for her department to sponsor the mission under the guise of an animal protection expedition to the tune of two million baht from which Kasemsri set himself up in office in a sleazy alley just off Rhamkhamaeng Road not very far from Sham Ntoc's dojo. He employed Sham's cousin Poonsak to look after the office in his absence.
The following day Sham presented himself at the cafe in Trat, close to the Cambodian border, supposedly a stronghold of the Khmer Rouge. 'Perhaps there's Khmer Rouge involvement with the Pui affair,' Kasemsri suggested on the way to the cafe.
'I hope not,' Sham replied, 'it's rumoured that they have re-formed and are going to launch a new offensive before long. If there is a connection then I think we have major problems.'
Kasemsri walked on as Sham entered the cafe and sat himself at a corner table and placed the ivory deer, which he had been given by the last contact he made in Bangkok, in the centre of the table. A youth appeared and greeted Sham with a low wai on seeing the deer, beaming from ear to ear. 'Please to follow me,' he said and then proceeded to lead Sham through a beaded curtain to a little windowless room at the back of the restaurant. All that Sham could see was a dimly lit candle, which was placed on a low table; the only furniture in the room as far as he could see, for it had cast the rest of the room into a shadow of darkness. The youth left him. As his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness, Sham noticed a figure clad in dark green sitting in the lotus position in the far corner.
'Tai Tuc?' queried the old man.
'That is so,' Sham replied.
'I am Li Hung,' the man stated in accented Thai. 'What is it that brings you to me?'
'I have seen and admired many fine things made from animals. I am fed up with my humdrum existence in the office and I want a more exciting life. I do not mind taking risks, perhaps a little danger - makes it that much more pleasurable.'
'How did you learn about us?'
'I asked around. I want to be the one who brings back the trophies. I still don't know who you are and I don't particularly care.'
'Can you use a rifle?'
'My father owned the Kai Ngan rifle club in Krungthep,' he said using the Thai name for the capital, 'I can shoot.'
'That is good. Is your father still alive?'
'No.'
'That's a shame. Any brothers or sisters?'
'No,' he lied. Sham could only give the man information that could be checked satisfactorily, so he chose his words carefully.
'I see. You will have to give me some information, I'm sure you'll understand, I shall have to check on you.'
After Sham had undergone a fair grilling the man then said, 'You will return here the same time tomorrow and I will give you my decision – naturally, you will adopt the same procedure.'

The handsome youth looked no more than sixteen but in fact he was twenty-four years of age. Once again, very much the polite waiter, he appeared at the corner table, his eyes quickly scanning the top for the ivory deer, which Sham had not bothered to put out having been there the previous day. The boy then proceeded to ask him what food he would like as though they had never met before but still displaying his courteous smile. Sham sensed that something was wrong and thought that it was not convenient to see the old man - then it dawned on him that he had not put the ivory deer on the table and wondered if that was the reason the youth had not been forthcoming. He turned to the youth and apologised, placing the ivory deer on the table at the same time. The transformation in the young man was instant as though Sham had pressed a switch.
'Please to follow me,' he requested yet again.
'Ah, so you have come back,' was the greeting from the old man who called himself Li Hung. 'If you had anything to hide, I am sure you would not have returned. You will be pleased to know that my enquiries into you have been quite satisfactory - and, I hasten to add, very interesting. You seem to have an impressive background - you could be most useful to us.'
'Who is us?' Sham enquired.
'All in good time, young man. First things first. Please remove your clothes.'
'All of them?' Sham complained, 'I'm not armed.'
'I do not doubt you, my friend, but I have my orders which are to strip all new members and give them a new set of clothes.' The old man clapped his hands and the youth appeared with a set of new clothes. 'One can't be too careful,' Li Hung added. For all I know you may have been wired. I am afraid the worst part is yet to come but Dinh here is very discreet and well trained.' Sham was made to bend as the youth lubricated his finger and gently inserted it into Sham's anus. Dinh was indeed discreet for the only inkling he had of the humiliating experience was a slight bulge that had appeared at the front of the youth's trousers.
Satisfied that Sham was not concealing anything untoward, Li Hung said, 'Dinh will now take you for a bath,' the old man said, not one bit moved by the whole operation. 'It's part of the drill,' the old man put in with a wave of the hand before Sham could complain.
The youth led the way to the spotless bathroom, the walls inlaid with mirrors set into beige coloured tiles, some decorated with oriental flowers. The bath had already been prepared and gave off a sickly aromatic vapour that Sham seemed to recognise but could not place.
Dinh smiled and motioned him into the bath, first dipping in his own hands to test the temperature of the water and to show Sham that it was safe to enter. Sham stepped in. To his utter amazement, he saw in the mirrored wall that Dinh too was stripping and he too leapt into the water. The young man then reached out for a bottle and poured something into the bath, which he then swirled around in the water making a thick layer of foam. He picked up a handful and threw them at Sham's face and then began to chuckle like a young boy.
'Heh, what do you think you are doing?' Sham complained.
'You relax please. Dinh follow normal procedure.' At that he began to wash the little Vietnamese in a servile fashion. The oil soothed him and soon he lay back and began to enjoy the attention as the youth eased away the tension. Dinh was most thorough leaving not a spot untouched. He then reached for another bottle, poured some of the liquid into his hands, which he rubbed together and then into Sham's hair. 'Just one of the services we provide - we look after our members very well. You will be glad of this kind of treatment after days in the jungle without washing. The next time you have a bath it may be a pretty girl that looks after you.'
Sham noticed that the youth had not remained indifferent to his work and had obviously taken some perverse pleasure in this ritual. Dinh beamed his ear to ear smile at Sham, put out a hand and said, Welcome to the Phoenix Group, Tai Tuc.'
Sham was heterosexual, but like many Orientals, he would enjoy fun with another beautiful human being whatever the sex, and found that the ritual had caused more than a little stirring in his groin - it had not gone unnoticed. 'I am so glad that you like it,' Dinh beamed, 'but I have to get you to your destination quite soon. Please dress now.'
Sham was amazed that he had been allowed to dress himself after such pampering. How on earth was he going to make contact with Kasemsri? These people were certainly not taking any chances - the thorough search, which had continued into the bath despite the outward display of charm and servility; given a set of new clothes, and then not being allowed out of sight; escorted all the way to wherever he was going.
'Oh, I am so sorry,' the big man apologised for bumping into Sham as he left the restaurant. Kasemsri had kept a close eye on the place, hoping to heaven that Sham would emerge from the front entrance where he had entered, but he had not expected an escort. Fortunately Dinh hadn't noticed the phoney accident, being slightly in front, nor the little bug that Kasemsri had dropped into Sham's pocket.

Dinh said very little as he drove the Proton to the coast. Sham had begun to like the man and found it difficult to believe he was part of a terrorist organisation - he didn't seem the type to be associated with violence but then Sham gave him the benefit of his imagination and settled for his being purely a paid escort - after all he was certainly very professional in his work. Perhaps, on the other hand, he would just as likely stick a knife in his back whilst giving him one of his ear to ear beams.
'I have to leave you now, my friend,' he said as he pulled up at the water's edge at Laem Ngop Cape, and with that was out of sight within seconds. He had been told that someone else would escort him for the latter part of his journey but he had not bargained for the way he was to be transported.
He was standing in a slight clearing between some palm trees listening to the sound of the lapping of the waves and then..... complete silence - total blackness as some-one stepped out from the cover of the trees and clobbered him on the back of the neck.
Had he been awake he may have noticed a certain air of eeriness about Ko Chang in the half-light, with its undulating tree-clad mountains spiked with the odd volcano-like peak. Ko Chang, the third largest of the Thai islands, dominates the fifty-one other isles that form the Marine National Park with its tourist-luring marine life. Who would have ever thought that such a peaceful haven was also the home of a branch of the terrorist organisation known as the Phoenix Group?
Sham awoke in strange surroundings amidst strange faces. 'Where the hell am I?' he asked in a daze to the wraith-like figure that pored over him. The room was dark, the only light being the ghostly glow of a candle casting shadows that danced upon the wooden walls, then someone brought in a hurricane lamp, set it on a table by the side of the window and then left.
'This is your home now, my friend. I am Ky. Welcome! It is my duty to see that you are settled happily and have all you need.'
'Welcome? Some welcome, knocked senseless then I wake up with a mega-sized headache!'
'I am sorry, really I am, but it was necessary, we have to guard our anonymity and our interests, naturally. Here, drink this, you will feel fine in a moment or two. I have also cooked you some food - I thought we could eat together and then we can talk uninterrupted.'
It turned out that Ky was the second in command of the South-East Asian sector of the Phoenix Group whose members live in wooden hooches scattered around the island. Somewhere well concealed lay the Headquarters, but Sham was too new to the group to be entrusted with information of its locality or even its existence.
The movement did in fact confirm Sham's fears - that it was connected with the Khmer Rouge in some way or other. 'Our main source of income is from the animals we hunt - these also provide for our own needs. We have to pay our annual quota to the central group in quarterly instalments and help our brothers over the border. Tomorrow is your test day - we do not leave the island until you have passed your test, but watch how you go about your task.'
'Which is?' Sham asked.
'You are required to hunt and kill two wild boar and three deer, without incurring either the attention of the authorities.'
'Sham swallowed hard trying not to show his astonishment. It suddenly struck him that Kasemsri might just try to contact him whilst he was out hunting and then they would become certain prey themselves to the rest of the group.
That night Sham lay wide-awake considering the events of the day and the implications of his immediate future. If the group had their hideout on this island it was likely that Pui's parents could be held captive there. It would be one thing to rescue them but something quite different to spirit them away from the island. Kasemsri would have to play a major part in this respect - he was free to explore the island - if he had followed them.
In fact, Kasemsri made no move to reach the island until the next day, once he had discovered the direction in which they were headed. He joined a party of tourists and booked himself into the spartan beachside office complex, the island's only accommodation, which is situated near the four-level Than Mayom Waterfall. His meter registered a faint signal from Sham's homing device, becoming stronger as he moved further inland. Satisfied that he was still in touch he set about exploring the island himself. There was no better way of fulfilling his explorations and remaining anonymous than joining the visitors who were going to tour the Marine Park - at least for the time being. There would be plenty of time to make contact with his friend under cover of darkness.
'But you don't hunt with these surely,' Sham complained the next morning as he was given an Armelite carbine.
'Often we have to travel for days in the north of the country - sometimes on the borders - anyway, a long way from here. There could be danger so we need protection - two weapons are too heavy to carry so we use this for a dual purpose,' Ky said.
Dawn had only just begun to stir with the forest's natural habitation waking in a daybreak chorus. 'By the way, you only have to concern yourself with hunting and killing the animals - we will do the rest - and of course you will have to avoid being caught,' he added almost as an afterthought, so matter-of-factly.
'How the hell can I use this thing without being caught?'
'That, my friend, is the whole purpose of the exercise.'
The sun broke through the canopy of the forest, forcing its laser beams into an array of frondescence depicting yellows and greens that shimmered under the light. The dawn chorus had launched forth lustily by now as the six men started on their trek. Sham felt a little more comforted after Ky had equipped him with a knife but he felt down-hearted at having to do what he had set out to stop others doing. Ky noticed his downcast expression, putting it down to the young man's concern about passing the test. Sham soon shed his weight as he thought about the ultimate goal - to rescue Pui's family - and wipe out the terrorists.
A quarter of an hour into the forest Sham stopped, took out his knife and started hacking at some of the overhanging branches, carefully selecting the right size which he pared and then shaved one end of each to a sharp point. A thicker branch and a dangling vine provided the material for his longbow. Ten arrows should suffice, he thought, allowing two per target; he would only use his carbine in emergency. Satisfied, he pushed on deeper into the forest.
He caught sight of his first wild boar only ten yards in front of him, taking off faster than he would have liked. However, now was the time to test his home made weapon. The first shot went wild as he aimed ahead into the path of the running pig. Stealthily and nimbly he stalked the creature which had stopped to listen - he placed himself ahead of the animal, took aim and fired his second arrow, striking the pig in the eye, causing it to scream and reel about looking for its attacker. Then it spotted Sham who was standing still. The boar charged at the young Vietnamese who took out his knife and flung it at the charging pig, striking it in the neck - but that did not halt it, only making it all the more determined. He grabbed his carbine by the barrel; timing his move carefully he swung it down with a mighty crack on the animal's skull, killing it instantly. He retrieved his knife and removed the arrow to the cheers of the other five men who had materialised from their concealed positions.
By ten o'clock Sham had chalked up all his trophies bar one deer - all without a single shot being fired from his carbine, much to the delight of Ky and the other four escorts.
The next deer was a sitting target as the terrified animal had become ensnared in some of the undergrowth. Sensing the approach of hunters it panicked and accordingly tightened the noose that had trapped its leg.
To the complete shock and surprise of Ky's party, Sham approached the spotted deer cautiously, speaking words of solace to it as he stroked the animal on its muzzle. He took out his knife, cut its restraining thongs, clapped his hands, and sent the animal on its way. It deserves a fair chance he muttered to no-one in particular and hoped that it wouldn't be the one he finally caught.
Ky came up to him. 'Why did you do that, you had your final trophy in your hands, the easiest of them all?'
'It could well be the one I catch in the long run but I reckon that even animals deserve a sporting chance. ‘Anyway,’ Sham grinned, 'I couldn't impress you with an easy target like that, could I?'
Ky appreciated the reply but he began to worry whether this man was right for their team - he had already shown signs of weakness in his eyes.
'To prove my marksmanship I shall shoot the next one,' Sham affirmed. Ky gave a nod of acknowledgement and returned to his men.
Twenty minutes later Sham stumbled on a group of beautiful spotted deer, raised his carbine and aimed at the buck, slowly applied pressure on the trigger and shot the animal through the ear, scattering the other does in all directions as they fled for their lives.
Ky was impressed with Sham's marksmanship and decided to let this outweigh his earlier weakness he had clocked up in his mind.
Sham was about to ask what they intended doing with the carcasses when Ky explained that he had a further team following them who had cut up the animals and taken away the meat after burying the skeletons. Ky and his men were much more urgent with this particular animal for fear that the authorities might appear before they had finished stripping it.
As they trudged home in the midday sun, Sham asked whether or not he had passed the test.
'That, my friend, was only the first part. From now until sundown you will have to be alert for you will be put to the test many times without warning. You will know whether or not you have passed the test before the end of the day because a little entertainment will be provided for you later in the evening if all goes well for you. I think you will find it more pleasurable than what you experienced yesterday before you came to this place.'
Barely had Ky's words melted away into the midday heat than a figure leapt out of the undergrowth brandishing a knife. Then came a second man with a stave, but Ky had not expected to witness such a spectacle for Sham displayed his whip-like reflexes and alacrity in every movement. His mind anticipated every move of his opponents so that he wrenched both the weapons from them, slung them away into the shrubbery and lashed into their heads with his feet at a speed Ky thought not humanly possible. 'OK, OK, Stop!' he yelled as he envisaged losing a couple of his best men. 'Stop for the sake of Buddha before you kill them, Tai Tuc.'
'So it's all right for them to kill me is it? Am I not expected to defend myself?'
'It was never intended they should kill you - perhaps wound you a little, nothing too serious.'
'I would rather return intact to enjoy my reward - if I am to be honoured by passing my test, that is.'
The journey back to his hooch was long and full of ambushes, which Sham overcame with similar expertise, returning with not so much as a scratch on his youthful body.
That evening Sham knew how much he had impressed Ky by the fact that he was sent not one but two beautiful girls to serve him. They could not have been above sixteen years of age but they were to become an embarrassment that nearly wrecked the whole mission.

Kasemsri waited until two in the morning before making a move. A hooded torch enabled him to trace a path through the forest as he followed his meter. The reading grew stronger as he gradually neared Sham's hooch.
Finding the cabin presented little problem. Kasemsri eased open the door with caution and swore silently as it creaked, not knowing what to expect on the other side.
Certain that he had located his friend and sure that there were no other people in the place he decided to arouse his friend when he heard a female grunt as she stirred in her sleep. He cursed again to himself. Having grown accustomed to the darkness he edged his way towards the sound and stooped over what he thought was Sham, but then he saw that there were....... three bodies huddled together? 'Some people have all the luck,' he thought, 'but it's never me!'
Kasemsri made himself scarce and eased open the door even more cautiously than before, expressing a long sigh of relief as he stepped into the night and returned to his own accommodation, moonlight filtering through the trees, affording him sufficient assistance that he didn't now have to use his torch. He hoped that his friend was not going to have company every night.
The following day Kasemsri excused himself from the guided tour and decided to give himself a one-man excursion to explore the parts that other tourists don't reach, returning in time for the evening meal which he devoured with relish and retired to his room to make a few notes. His main concern was to be able to smuggle some weapons onto the island, not that there was any shortage of them around but unfortunately they belonged to the wrong side and he knew they wouldn't be too keen to sell him any. He had to get to the mainland - getting back shouldn't be too difficult as several options lay open to him, basically two - a willing friend or a coerced sailor, but before any of that he had to make contact with Sham, preferably that night.
He soon found the hut after his previous night's forage but he was more cautious in entering this time. Sham was burning the midnight oil. 'I wondered when you were going to show up,' he greeted with more than a hint of irony.
'What a nerve you have. I came last night and nearly ruined the whole mission thanks to your....er....company.'
'Oh.'
'Well here I am. I've been busy whilst you have been living in the lap of luxury.'
Sham told him about his tests and how the company he had the night before was his reward that was 'forced' upon him.
'Just in case you happen to have company again - in future, put your shoes outside the door if it is not clear for me to come in.'
Kasemsri expounded on his two days' exploration, both guided and self motivated. He explained how the terrorists were accommodated all over the place - 'We can only move when they are all together.'
'Your main tasks now are to get yourself to their headquarters and to find out if they are holding Pui's family,' Kasemsri added.
'It may take quite some time.'
'We haven't got all that much time - find some excuse to go there - ask to see their number one - perhaps he lives there.'
'Sure. What do I say, "Excuse me young man, show me where your headquarters are because I want to see if you are holding our minister's parents, then I can rescue them,"?'
'Something like that,' the big man joked. I'd better get back - I need the sleep. I will come each night around the same time unless your shoes are outside,' Kasemsri promised.
Sham was determined not to retire until he had formulated a plan but fatigue overtook him and he fell asleep poring over his notes.
Ky was so impressed with Sham that he pre-empted his request to be taken to their number one and appeared at Sham's cabin shortly after dawn.
'Our leader has heard of your hunting and fighting skills and would like to speak to you.’ Sham was still slouched over the table as Ky had entered. Fortunately the knock aroused him and gave him sufficient time to hide away his notes in his briefs before the terrorists' number two entered. 'You are truly honoured,' he went on, 'because number one rarely shows himself to rookies.'
It was a fair trek to the hidden caves way into the mountainous terrain of the island. Sham and Ky chatted amicably throughout their journey but all the time the young Vietnamese committed to memory every nuance of the tract so that he could direct Kasemsri to the terrorist headquarters on his own should the need arise.
The entrance to the cave lay hidden from view by a screen of scrub behind which lay a conglomeration of huge boulders in between which lay the cleft that was just large enough for the sturdiest of men ,even Kasemsri, to squeeze through.
The cave soon opened up into a small chamber in which two heavily armed guards patrolled, ensuring that no unwelcome guests entered through the steel doors that led into a loftier chamber which housed a comprehensive arsenal stacked on metal storage units from floor to the roof of the cave in an unlit recess to the right. On the left a series of rooms had been constructed. It was through the first of these that Ky led their latest recruit.
At a heavy desk a handsome youth sat now with his brigadier's uniform and the brown beret of the Phoenix Group on which lay the insignia of the outfit.
'Welcome, Tai Tuc,' he greeted. Sham took a step forward and stared hard at the man disbelievingly and then took two steps back astonished at the transmuted at the figure of Dinh.



CHAPTER 10

Having divulged his plan to Foreskin on their previous meeting, Martin Schnipfler initiated the move before leaving the cathedral in Harare, sending the minister into Europe right away. Before leaving he busied himself contacting all the delegates attending the Viennese congress. Not surprisingly he was unable to make contact with Dan Tindale.

Sven Olafsen was not yet well enough to travel to the re-arranged venue planned for All Saints Day prior to the congress in Vienna due to open on 3rd November, however, he had still six days leeway.

The first to respond to Foreskin's call was the very scared Wan Li Hokomo who jumped at the chance to get away from the danger of his home environment. He hadn't counted on the tail who shadowed him all the way to Munich.
The Phoenix Group did not have a foothold in Japan so a deal was struck with the Yakuza who supplied their young member, Sato. He had already terrorised the environment minister earlier and was now tailing him into Europe. There were not too many yellow faces in the Bavarian capital and so he had to take even greater care in order to ensure that Hokomo would not see him. He never knew why the secrecy was necessary because he thought it would be more effective if he were to be seen to be following him, but orders were orders and he was being well paid for it.
As they touched down, the tyres bit into the shimmering water that lay on the surface of the runway, sending jets of spray into the autumn mist that had begun to close in on Munich Airport. The journey passed with the tedium of any other long flight, devoid of drama, which was as well in the circumstances. Sato dozed fitfully as they were transported back in time, knowing that his man was not going anywhere until they landed, but Hokomo had an uneasiness about himself that prevented him from a prolonged sleep.
Theoretically the journey had taken less than three hours - at least that is how it looked on paper and the hold-up in the terminal added a further fifty percent of that before the taxi could deliver him to the Mannheimer Hotel where his secretary had made a reservation for the night. At the airport Hokomo had noticed other Japanese amid the chaos and confusion over luggage therefore he expressed his disgust to some of the other travellers who were complaining about the gross inefficiency of western countries. He noticed too that Sato, who was alone, watchful and silent with the evil look of a gangster. He noticed the missing finger, reminiscent of a Yakuza member who had stepped out of line. Fear began to well up in him again at the thought of his being followed. Still, he was too tired to worry about that tonight - maybe my suspicious mind is working overtime, he thought. Tomorrow is another day - time will tell.
Sato had taken the next taxi and followed Hokomo to the hotel. 'Pull in here!' he told the taxi driver in broken English, and watched the minister as he entered the hotel. The porter took Hokomo's luggage and the minister checked in and confirmed that he would be staying at least one night, but at that stage he was unable to be more specific.
It would be unwise for me to stay in such a classy place, Sato mused, I would look as much out of place as a whore in a monastery, so he trundled off to look for cheap accommodation in a nearby Gasthof, which he found three streets away.
Because he had slept so soundly on the flight, Sato was able to programme himself to wake at dawn. He dressed and was soon mingling with the early flow of workers coming and going so that at all times he was able to keep an eye on the entrance to the Mannheimer and so follow Hokomo as soon as he showed himself.
The following morning there was still an air of dampness surrounding the city. Hokomo awoke late and ordered breakfast in his room after availing himself of a shower and shave. He reflected on the people at the airport and wondered if he were becoming paranoid but he soon dismissed the thought. Nevertheless he was not going to invite problems, so he decided to move on. Just in case, he thought, just in case, I'll send my luggage on ahead and book out later.
To Sato, it looked as though Hokomo were going sight-seeing, but in actual fact he wove his way in and out of shops, took a taxi trip around the city, dodging in and out of narrow alleys and was finally dropped off at his starting point.
'Damn!' the expletive from Sato who now guessed, quite wrongly, that the minister had spotted him, but he was good and managed to keep with him despite his evasive action which he had taken just as a precaution.
To create more confusion, Hokomo returned to the Mannheimer Hotel for lunch. The reception clerk called out to him, 'This came for you a short while ago,' and handed him a manila envelope with just his name on it. 'I thought you had left - we had no forwarding address but the man insisted that I took the envelope just in case you returned.' The clerk was most apologetic.
'Thanks. I thought I would take lunch here before moving on; I hope that I'm not too late.' Hokomo gave one of his rare smiles again and handed the clerk a few marks and then proceeded to the restaurant without opening the envelope.
Hokomo had purposely left it a while before taking lunch so that the restaurant would fill up and then he would not feel unnecessarily conspicuous. Orientals always seem to draw attention to themselves in Europe, even without saying a word.
The minister had heard so much about Bavarian beer that he decided to order a large one, which he hoped would react favourably on his empty stomach and create the necessary effect. Having downed half a litre of the strong lager, he picked up the envelope that he had left on the table, took a knife from his place and slit open the top.
As soon as he saw the Japanese characters his stomach turned over in anticipation of what the note might say, so that he gave a belch, which he managed to suppress for the benefit of those around him - he knew it would bear bad news.
Thinking that he had been spotted, Sato decided it best that he came out in the open, to hell with orders, and let Hokomo know that he could not move without being observed. YOU WERE TOLD NOT TO GO TO VIENNA - REMEMBER YOUR BROTHER, NOW IT’S YOUR TURN, the note had said.
There was nothing new in the note but Hokomo shuddered at the menace it posed and the implications of it. How was he going to be able to meet the demands of the new itinerary? He had to rid himself of the tail - he realised it must have been the man with the missing finger he saw at the airport. The Yakuza were the scum and scourge of the country - if he could rid his countrymen of such a person he would be doing them a favour. He then had further thoughts - if he were to get rid of him, then surely they would send a replacement? He would have to bide his time.
The beer was beginning to take effect, made him feel good - he looked once more at the note, the characters began to shimmer and then dance. His eyes began to water and the characters became a distant blur. He tore the note into tiny fragments, placed them in the envelope and set fire to them in the ashtray. Confident he could outwit the Yakuza when the time came, he smiled, determined to enjoy the delights of Western cuisine.
Impressed and well satisfied with the meal, the minister settled the bill and asked if he may be permitted to compliment the chef in person, crossing the waiter's palm with twenty marks. That was the passport to the kitchen - and the way out into the back street.
He took a taxi to the station, reclaimed his luggage and boarded the train for Salzburg.

When Sato delivered the note to the reception clerk he was told that Hokomo wasn't expected back. He could not remember seeing the minister come out with any luggage and so he told the man at the reception that Hokomo-san had asked him to pick up his luggage.
'I'm sorry sir,' came the reply, 'Herr Hokomo has already sent his luggage to the station.'
'Please to give him this if he does return,' he insisted of the reception clerk. Sato made to make his way to the station and had nearly been caught. He turned into the road to take a bus when he caught sight of Hokomo hurrying along. I give him full marks for effort, he thought, but I'm too good for him, and then he hopped onto a bus.
In the station concourse, Sato bought himself some food and a copy of the local Zeitung. After his snack he picked up the paper and held it as though reading it, carefully watching the constant flow of people, zooming in on each male face, waiting for the light tan of the Oriental.
Once he had spotted Hokomo he put down his paper and followed him in the open so that the minister would know that he could not be shaken easily but Hokomo was so confident that he wasn’t being followed that he didn't bother checking people around him. Sato saw him reclaim his luggage, buy a ticket and make his way to the appropriate Gleis. I wonder why he's going to Salzburg - maybe a spot of sight seeing, perhaps a Mozart bicentenary concert, he thought. Rough though he may have been, Sato kept abreast of all the news and took a keen interest in the arts. He returned to the ticket office, purchased a ticket and stood under the number four sign for the correct section of the train that would take him to Salzburg.
Hokomo's face was a mask of horror when he turned around to find Sato standing at the same platform, waiting for the same train. I was right all along, he thought, that gangster has followed me all the way from Japan, so it was he who wrote that note. There was nothing for it now but to get rid of him - permanently. If someone were to replace him now, they would find it difficult to pick up my trail - at least until Vienna. He just hoped that Sato had not reported his latest move. Too late for obsequies, it was a fait accompli. Having composed himself, he looked directly into the eyes of Sato and with a half-smile on his face, gave a salute, which was intentionally ignored.
For the greater part of the journey, Hokomo sat and pondered how he could dispose of his tail, who stuck to him like a leech. The problem was not knowing when and where he would strike.
It was time to stretch his legs so he paid a visit to the toilet and then stood at the window in the corridor which some Italians had earlier occupied, singing and shouting without concern for others, some sitting on their cases as there was no room in the overcrowded train. Hokomo was glad to see the back of them.
An unexpected opportunity arose when the train slowed to a halt - for what reason he was not sure as they had not yet approached the station and he was certainly not going to waste time enquiring. He sought the nearest door facing the side away from the other tracks, to avoid any oncoming trains, jumped out and made a dash for the bank, leaping over and landing in a roll. To hell with the luggage, he would have plenty of time to deal with that later - if he were still alive, that is.
He complimented himself on his landing and was now out of sight of the train. He crawled into a nearby bush, which had not yet shed its leaves and so provided him with good cover.
Sato was no fool neither was he keen to lose another finger - one major slip-up in a life time was enough and was made to cut off his own finger. He was keeping an eye on Hokomo in the corridor, saw him move towards the door. He left his compartment as the minister disappeared through the door but he could not see him.
The train started to move off as Sato jumped out, squatted down to see if he could see Hokomo under the carriages, maybe catch sight of some running feet. Nothing. Hokomo lay still as he heard the sound of someone running, not knowing whether it was his tail or some kind passenger who was concerned for his well-being or perhaps just being plain nosey. He heard the clatter and creaking of the carriages as they sprang to life. Someone was bound to show themselves very shortly.
Sure enough, Sato decided the minister must have gone in the only other possible direction and so clambered over the embankment.
If only Hokomo had a weapon, it would be so much easier - no-one around to witness anything, miles from any habitation, so no-one would hear a shot. It was a wonderful opportunity to get rid of him - but how? He looked around for something solid. Sato would be certain to carry a weapon - he stood no chance if it came to a confrontation. Perhaps he would be overlooked - no, this man was too thorough; he's proved that already. The only solid thing around to act as some sort of a weapon was a half rotten section of a branch but that could well break on impact - if he could make the blow count, it would not matter if coupled with the element of surprise.
He could see Sato through the foliage of his cover, gun in hand and so he crawled a little further towards the bank, hoping he could reach the other side again. The time had come for Sato to kill Hokomo. Both were now intent on killing the other and certainly confident that they would each be successful.
The nearest building was too far away to consider - there was no chance that Hokomo could make a run for it. He began to regret leaving the train. It would be pointless going back over the bank because there was nowhere to go.
His one hope would be to make Sato think he had sought the shelter of the trees. He dug into the earth with his hands and uncovered a hefty stone which he hurled into the wood, hoping it would make a sound so that Sato would believe it was caused by his movement then the Japanese minister could flee over the bank to the track. A fat lot of good that would do, he thought, where the hell could I go? He decided on a different tack; to follow Sato into the wood and surprise him from behind - that is if he could prevent himself from treading on dead twigs, which would so easily betray his presence.
Sato wasn't too sure what he heard - it must have been Hokomo in the woods, he decided, falling for the minister's ploy. Gingerly Hokomo broke cover and pursued the pursuer, hoping that he could turn the tables to his advantage. I'm not cut out for this sort of thing he thought, ministers don't get caught up in rough stuff - well, only verbally. It's his life or mine so here goes! He progressed slowly, stopping at each tree as he came to it.
Sato was fully alert, advancing, stopping and then spinning around in a half crouch with his revolver held in both hands. Hokomo timed his enemy’s movements but they were erratic, sometimes he would effect two spins before moving off, other times he would move only one step before panning a full circle. He had to move as soon as the Yakuza man had begun to straighten out his legs.
The one thing he feared that would happen actually did - he trod on a dead twig. There was nothing for it but to launch himself at the man and club him on the head with all his strength. Sato's reflexes were honed finely so that he moved and fired in one in the direction of the sound. The minister fell to the ground only ten feet behind him the moment he heard the twig break. The shot went wild but Sato was unable to get in a second one because Hokomo dived at the man's legs, pulling him off his feet. Sato still hung onto the gun but Hokomo kicked at his wrist with all his might, crushing a bone and sending the revolver beyond reach. The man cried out, holding his hand as he lay on his side but the minister spun around and kicked at his face with all his force - he heard the nose snap and saw the blood pour from it. Hokomo picked up his makeshift club and brought it down on the man's head with the strength of a maniac, which even caused himself great pain. The wood was old and rotten. It snapped. It only stunned Sato - that was not good enough. Hokomo used his feet again and kicked at the side of his head, pounding like a maniac as the madness raged within him, so determined that he was not the one who was going to die.
Sato was unconscious - Hokomo searched for the revolver - heard groans as the man regained consciousness after only a few seconds - where the hell was it? Sato staggered to his feet lurching towards the minister who saw the butt of the weapon protruding from a pile of leaves. They both swooped for it feebly struggling for their lives. The minister just made it a split second before Sato. He fired at Sato but nothing happened. The man continued to advance towards him. Hokomo looked for the safety catch. Removed it. He fired again. There was a dull thwack as the bullet found flesh but still the man staggered on towards him, a bloodied mess with a terrifying grin on his face as though he were a figment of a nightmare. Hokomo fired the remaining rounds at the looming figure. Sato's legs crumpled under him slowly, his face a fixed maniacal stare, unchanged as he plunged into the realms of death.
Somehow he had to get back to the train and his luggage, which were by now many kilometres away. He forced himself to walk in the direction the train had gone, keeping to the side of the track.

The Japanese minister had barely covered three kilometres when he heard voices. He thought it strange that there was so much activity in such a lonely spot but amongst the general hubbub there sounded wails and shouting as though there were some urgency, so he hurried along the track, which was spiralling around a rather squat mountain. The voices became clearer but they seemed to warn him that there was trouble ahead. Hokomo's confusion turned to horror as he saw the chaos in front of him. Carriages of a train which had been travelling in the direction of Salzburg had concertina-ed so that two were on their side and two up front had bowed as it were, forming an arch which, at the apex, must have been over twenty feet from the ground. Hokomo broke out into a run to see if he could help but then he suddenly stopped in his tracks at the realisation of what he was witnessing - it was the very train he had left earlier.
All those who had survived the crash were busy, some sorting out their luggage, which had been strewn all over the place and others tending the injured. The Japanese could not speak any German so he tried his restricted English as he approached the nearest group, asking what had happened. Apparently there had been a rock fall and although the driver had applied his brakes as hard as he could, there was too little distance to bring the train to a halt and so he had ploughed into the rocks that had lain across the lines. Fortunately someone had the sense to find their way around the blockade and run on ahead to warn any trains coming in the other direction.
There were no buildings in sight from where to raise the alarm and summon help; the driver appeared to be in a bad way and could not be pulled clear of his cabin without the aid of cutting gear.
Some of the dead had been laid on the side of the track, the heads covered with any garments that came to hand. Hokomo retched at the sight of the mangled bodies.
The guard, who appeared without serious injury, seemed to have taken charge of the rescue operation oblivious of his own minor abrasions. The minister was able to get from him that there was a cottage lying about four kilometres up the line and about a kilometre or so on the right of the track. Before setting off he tried to comfort a young mother whose little girl was trapped in the wreckage, but he felt so impotent, having seen the little mite's head, the only part of her body that was visible. She must have been about seven years of age and just looked at the minister and smiled as a tear rolled down her cheek. The family was Italian so the mother was unable to understand much of what the minister was trying to say, her own English being very restricted and her poor daughter could only speak her native tongue. 'I go get help,' the minister tried to convey with a series of gestures as he left them and made his way up the line.
Hokomo really would not have blamed the Austrian who answered his knock if he had slammed the door in his face, seeing a dishevelled Japanese muttering at him in what appeared to be gibberish. The minister then tried English in desperation to make himself understood - the old man could hear the urgency in the Oriental's speech and fortunately was able to get the gist of what the minister wanted, catching the words 'accident' and 'train' and general urgent gesticulations so he beckoned the minister to enter his cottage.
The old man's dwelling could only be described as a half timbered bungalow which was drab and sparsely furnished with what looked like home-made solid pine furniture. The front door led directly into the Austrian's living room in which there were two other doors, one leading to a small bedroom and the other to a kitchen. Surprisingly and thankfully enough there was a telephone.
Over the phone the Japanese explained in his best English who he was upon which the voice at the other end changed dramatically from her apathetic tone as she put the caller through to the Japanese Embassy. Yes he was sorry about what had happened, yes he would arrange for a taxi to take him to the nearest point he could pick up another train, which happened to be Rosenheim not ten kilometres from where he was at the present. Yes he would have someone meet him at Salzburg if he could not manage it himself. Yes he would do all he could to help and yes the minister is a pain in the arse he thought.

Dan Tindale failed to persuade Garee Tomson that there was nothing more he could do and that he should return to England whilst he travelled to Vienna on his own. He had resigned himself to the fact that he could not hope to trace Clare and the children before the congress and that he was being constantly watched by a person or people unknown.
The next few days were spent travelling to Mannheim, Stuttgart and then on to Munich.
Dan Tindale had always been fascinated by World War II and had made a point of reading as much literature and novels that were available to him as well as watching all the films and videos on the subject. As he was not far from Berchtesgarten he was determined to see Hitler's old Headquarters for himself, or at least what was left of it. Although Hitler's house had been blown up in 1956, there was still the shell of the guesthouse, which was situated in a wood nearby. Adding his own contempt, he urinated on its walls. Everything in the bunkers had been stripped years before by flocks of souvenir hunters, but at least there was adequate there to set his imagination in motion, visualising what it must have been like fifty odd years ago. Satisfying his curiosity he ventured to the bottom of the Obersalzburg, then took a lift up to the Eagle's Nest which had since been made into a restaurant.
Garee had very much enjoyed the past few days and decided that after all, he could not be of further help to his friend and so he would now make some business calls in the area. He promised to meet up with him in Vienna on the eve of the congress, all things being equal.
With such a Mozart hype that year, Dan Tindale just had to spend a few days in Salzburg and hopefully venture out into the 'Sound of Music' hills surrounding the city. Next day his first port of call was the castle from where he could overlook the city, its cathedral and the surrounding hills with the famous monastery, but Mozart's house would be the focal point for the following day; a cursory visit to the cathedral and hopefully a concert later on but how was he going to convince the kidnappers that he wasn’t going to Vienna when he was so close? As things were, he did not want them to see him at all.

Canada's Robert Rose at sixty-two was the oldest of the delegates to attend Vienna. In 1987 he chaired the Helsinki meeting that was instrumental in setting up an international aid team whose aim was to combat and organise a team of helpers and to provide food and equipment for any natural disaster that happened at any place in the world, so raising funds to set this in motion was a major task, setting up centres on each of the continents. Equipment included helicopters, trucks, amphibians and trained helpers not to mention a vast reserve of food, clothing and temporary emergency housing under canvas. Rose was one of the first on the scene in the 1991 Bangladesh tragedy when a typhoon wiped out over a hundred thousand of its population. He was seen on television actually in tears at the devastation he had witnessed on his visit.
It appeared that the Phoenix Group had not considered him a threat to the Viennese congress and had left him alone as they also had with some of the other delegates who had never expressed any strong convictions on either terrorism or ecological topics.
Another classical music enthusiast, Rose just could not dismiss the chance to attend some of the Mozart celebrations. It was during the interval of a concerto evening that he noticed Dan Tindale whom he had met two years before.
'Well, how's the British minister?' he greeted.
'Hello there Rob. I’m fine thanks, and how are you? A Mozart fan too I presume, eh? I expect you are on your way to Vienna?'
'Yes. Strange about the sudden switch of plan, isn't it?'
'What switch? What do you mean?' Dan queried.
'Didn't you get the message?'
Rose explained the request that had come from Harare that the delegates were to meet in secret at St Wolfgang two days before the Vienna conference. 'Looks as though we are all being got at, Rob.'
'I'm afraid I am in the dark - have you any idea what is going on? I heard that there's a problem in Zimbabwe, that's all, but I don't know any details.'
Dan Tindale briefly outlined his own plight. 'My God!' Rose exclaimed, 'What's going on in the world?' His face dropped in shock at the thought that he too could be being watched at that very moment. 'No-one but the members concerned, I gather, knows about the change of date and venue - hopefully we will be safe at St Wolfgang but we must take precautions to see that we are not being tailed - on the other hand, we may have a little Quisling amongst us.'
'There's no guaranteeing anything. You know how well-informed these terrorist groups are - and ruthless.'
'What's this Phoenix Group?' Dan asked, 'I had not heard of it until the other day. What do they hope to gain, for goodness sake?'
'Like you, I'm afraid I am entirely in the dark.'
The two ministers toasted each other in a schnapps and returned to their respective seats to hear Alfred Brendl and the Berlin Philharmonic perform the maestro's Piano Concerto number 21 in C.
The city had gone completely Mozart crazy - everyone was cashing in on their own beloved composer. The tourist trade was the best that Salzburg had ever known as hosts of people from every nation poured in to pay their respects to the great master.
'I must say I would like to be here on 5th December, the actual anniversary of his death. From all accounts there will be so much going on it will be difficult to decide which events to attend,' the Canadian went on, but Dan Tindale's thoughts were far from the glitter of the anniversary - more that there was a breach of security somewhere along the line, a mole maybe, because it was too uncanny how the Phoenix Group had been one step ahead of him all along the line, and now he realised that the other delegates were also suffering problems of a serious nature, pointing the finger at terrorism around the world but with a common thread. He had been so engrossed in his own personal problems that he did not have time to keep abreast with the news and so he had missed the plight of his counterparts in other countries.
That night he learnt from other guests in his hotel about the tragedies involving senior ministers around the globe. Fear for the safety of his family had increased since learning of the problems in Zimbabwe whose situation only intensified the resolve of the Phoenix Group. He felt isolated. Rose had been truly sympathetic but he himself was fortunately not the subject of terrorism - this told Dan that he would gain little or sympathy from his Canadian colleague. Dan was determined to foil those who were watching him and so he gathered together a few essentials, which he placed ready in a holdall and then kept himself awake by drinking coffee.
At two in the morning he took his holdall onto the balcony, silently closing the French windows behind him. He shuddered at the cold and then edged his way over the partitions that separated the balconies of the adjoining rooms, until he reached the fire escape. A light came on in a room behind him, causing him to sidestep and then freeze. If someone, unable to sleep, decided to take a little air by stepping out onto the balcony he would be seen. In the distance he heard the faint flushing of a toilet and moments later the light went out.
He was not familiar with the city and two in the morning was not really the time to go wandering the streets, drawing attention to himself. Luck was with him as he stumbled upon a telephone box and phoned for a taxi. It would be costly but then he valued the life of his family far more than his amassed fortune.
It was shortly after three in the morning by the time he arrived at the village of Zinkenbach on the opposite side of the lake from the tourist town of St Wolfgang. Unless the taxi driver were in the pay of the terrorists, which he considered highly unlikely, then he was certain that he had eluded his over-watchers. Although his family were obviously still in danger, he felt safer himself - less threatened. On the way, the taxi driver had asked where in particular he wanted to be dropped off. He did not want to give away any unnecessary information that could lead to his whereabouts. ‘I will direct you over there by the lake - my German is not good and I have forgotten the name of the actual spot,' he lied and took a chance that there would be a few hotels near the waterside.
‘Yes sir,’ came the reply.
He did not want to tell him that he was going to the hotel where he had met the owner some years ago, 'I have arranged to meet a friend,’ he lied, 'A very pleasant man and his charming wife.'
Dan hoped that whoever the proprietors were, they would not be too angry at being awakened at that hour, so paying the taxi driver he began to conceive a feasible story to woo the hotelier into accepting the reason for being there at such an unsociable hour.



CHAPTER 11


It was two days since the police guard was posted outside the Norwegian minister's private ward. At breakfast time he feebly told the orderly that he wanted to see his priest, only to be told that he had left the hospital when the guard appeared.
'I don't care where he is, I must have a priest this morning,' he muttered, feigning the final throes of death, 'I haven't long to live, later could be too late.'
'I'll see what I can do, air' the scared orderly replied.
'That's not good enough - if you can't contact him yourself, then get me someone in authority who can.'
'Very well sir.'
Shortly after the orderly left, a sister came in. 'What's all the fuss about?' she asked, totally ignoring the minister's position of office.
Olafsen struggled to explain to the sister, the urgency of the need to see Fr Jorgensen. 'Why do you want him?' she asked impertinently.
'That's between the priest and myself,' he mumbled in an almost silent rebuke.
There was a sudden transformation in the minister. Shortly after ten o'clock, Strom Jorgensen was allowed into Olafsen's room. Until now the minister had given no indication to anyone that he was feeling very much better. On the contrary, he tried to give the impression that he was at death's door. 'Get me out of this place please, Father, I don't want these guys breathing down my neck. They'll be back all right. I'm OK now, really I am.'
The previous evening he had been visited by the Prime Minister who told him in confidence about the change of plans concerning the convention - or more to the point, about the secret meeting to be held in St Wolfgang.
'And where do you propose going?' the priest asked.
'Once it's discovered that I have slipped out of here there'll be an almighty rumpus. I feel sorry for that policeman outside because it will all come down heavily on his shoulders. Every television and radio station in the country will broadcast my leaving hospital, especially under mysterious circumstances and no doubt it will be in the press as well. That means the Phoenix Group will be on to me so I must contact the Prime Minister as soon as I'm out of here. I must make it appear to the Phoenix Group that I'm heading for Vienna and intent on attending the congress. I'm going in that general direction anyway. Then perhaps we can flush out these terrorists, or at least some of them. I really would like to capture one of them and extract some information out of him. I take it you will come with me?'
'Only if you want me to, minister.'
'Very much so - now get me out of here - please.'
'What, now? Any ideas how we're going to do it?'
'You are supposed to be the expert.'
'Thank you. OK, for starters, are your clothes in this room?
'Yes.'
'Then get yourself dressed. It shouldn't be too difficult to get out if I can think of a reason to send the guard away for a couple of minutes.'
'I have an idea. Anyone will accept a priest's word. Tell the guard that you want to administer the last rites and you need a small receptacle for some holy water. If you offer to stand guard yourself I expect he'll do it for you.'
'But I'm not allowed to move from here. Orders,' the policeman said. Hell this isn't going to work, the priest thought. A stubborn police officer afraid of losing his job is all I need - he certainly will do just that if he really does as I ask.
'It's essential I stay with the minister at the moment and I'll vouch for his safety. Please hurry,' the cleric pleaded.
Reluctantly the guard wandered down the corridor to the left whilst Fr Jorgensen took off his dog collar and gave it to Olafsen. 'Here, put this on and go. Turn right and don't rush, it will only draw attention to yourself. I'll join you in the car park as soon as I can. Here are the keys to my car.'
The priest quickly described his car and its whereabouts and then Olafsen was off.
The police guard must have seen Olafsen trudging down the corridor on his way back to the ward but he did not seem to make any connection between the priestly looking man in the corridor and his charge - it was doubtful whether he would have recognised him even if they had come face to face. He naturally trusted the priest and believed that he was still in his room.
The light tap on the door confirmed that he had not recognised Olafsen. The priest opened the door putting a finger to his mouth, partly to silence the guard in the presence of a dying man and partly to conceal the fact that he was not wearing his dog collar, not to mention the fact that he was alone in the ward. Seeing the little bowl in the man's hand, the priest slipped his arm around the door and relieved the guard of the object, gestured his thanks and quietly closed the door again.
'You stay there,' he urged the guard some moments later, 'I'm just going to have a word with the doctor.' With his coat collar turned up he left the room and once he was out of sight sped his way to the car park. He hoped there would be an hour or so before the minister's absence would be discovered.
There was no sign of Olafsen as Fr Jorgensen approached his car. He felt a slight uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. As he inserted the key into the lock he caught sight of the minister who had the sense to cower down between the front and rear seats. Relief blossomed within him when he saw him.
'Any problems Father?'
'Only time will tell. Now we have to get you out of the country.'
'But I need to pick up a few things from home, first.'
'If you'll excuse my saying so, minister, that's sheer madness.'
'Have you any better suggestion?'
'Tell me what you want from the house and I'll get them for you. There's bound to be a watch on your place, possibly two - the Phoenix Group and our own security.'
'Then how will you manage it?'
'It's better that I don't tell you. You forget that I am the professional. We might just be lucky enough to get you on a flight before all hell is let loose - there's bound to be tight security at the airport. If you are recognised, you'll be escorted every step you take and we want you free of all that if we're to flush out these beggars.'
'OK. I'll head for the obvious place, Hamburg, but first I must get in touch with the Prime Minister at the airport here and tell her I'm all right and to make it known that I'm on my way to Vienna via Hamburg.'
'You're a brave man, my friend, I just hope you're well enough to take all this on board.'
'I have much faith in you, Father,' he smiled.
They were not to know that there were no members of the Phoenix Group in Norway, but as rightly predicted, it was broadcast both on television and radio that the minister had left hospital after a surprise recovery and that he was on his way to Vienna via Hamburg. Shortly afterwards, radio and television stations in neighbouring countries were sending out their own version of the story.
It was the man known as the Englishman in the Phoenix Group who picked up the news on his travels and lost no time in notifying one of his counterparts in Kiel. A two-man team sped to Hamburg. Helmut Mischke was still on his way from Bremen by the time Udo Steiner had reached the airport.
Steiner was the sort of man who was capable of running the entire outfit himself. At a youthful forty-two he was still in remarkable shape physically, training five nights a week in the local gym. He was a natural who had the gift of reading his opponents' minds and pre-empting their moves. Not only had he survived all these years without any serious injury, he had never lost any member of his team whilst on assignment.
After graduating from Heidelberg University, he passed himself off as an Englishman and trained with the SAS in Hereford. He was one of the successful team that stormed the Iranian Embassy in London in 1981. So disgruntled was he by both the capitalist and communist worlds that he sought means of establishing his own Utopia and was prepared to go to any lengths in order to achieve it but whom could he trust? It was not easy. He had sewn a few innocuous seeds amongst friends until one day he found that one had fallen on fertile ground. A member of the Phoenix Group, which, at that time was still in its infant days, contacted him. He was able to give vent to his ideas, some of which the Group gleaned from him. It was ironic that he was posted to Germany where he settled into the life of his home country once again.

Fr Jorgensen left the plane well behind the minister. Having grown a beard and moustache since boarding the plane, a berretta pulled low over his brow and a pair of dark glasses, even the minister failed to recognise him. In fact for some minutes, he wondered what had become of him.
Steiner saw Olafsen walk onto the tarmac and from then on his eyes did not leave him after first checking that he was travelling alone. There was no way he could have connected him with the old priest who seemed to be minding his own business as he doddered towards the main airport building.
What worried Strom Jorgensen the most was the fact that neither he nor the minister was carrying any form of weapon so there was little either could do to fend off surprise attack. That situation was soon rectified as he had arranged to take delivery of a Walther, which was surreptitiously slipped into his hand as he left the main terminal. Now he felt more comfortable.
The priest had given the minister strict instructions not to look around him as though half expecting something to happen - HE would be his eyes.
The Norwegian embassy was on the ball; they had arranged for a limousine to pick up the minister from the airport. Olafsen checked the driver's identification and was ushered to a seat at the back. Steiner had now positioned himself in his Porsche 923 and ready to follow the limousine. He was calm and assured because his plan could not fail - theoretically. A half mile away Mischke would be waiting as a backup should anything possibly go wrong, but what could possibly go wrong? Steiner planned to take out the minister on his own and in his own way.
Steiner had overtaken Olafsen's limo and was tailing him from in front as was often the case in Eastern Europe. When Mischke slipped onto the road in front of him in his BMW, Steiner dropped back letting the black limo overtake. It was all too easy - run up to Olafsen's car and fire a cyanide gas pellet through the rear window - tough on the driver but c'est la vie. On the other hand in the unlikely chance of their providing bulletproof transport for the Norwegian, he would have to fall back on his back-up plan.
Steiner accelerated to narrow the gap between them. He had everything in control now. Once he had fired the pellet, his Porsche would take him miles away before anyone knew what had transpired. What happened next could never have been foreseen. A minibus pulled out to overtake the limo, not judging the speed of the oncoming articulated lorry, which swerved to avoid the idiot who had just pulled out. The lorry skidded and jack-knifed, slewing across the road. Olafsen's driver had seen the minibus pull out in his rear view mirror and accelerated to allow the minibus space to pull in but it was too late, the minibus concertina-ed as it crashed into the trailer. Steiner had no chance, he braked hard dropping the Walther to the floor as he tried to pull the car to the right but there was no space, he crashed into the cab of the lorry, killing the driver instantly and trapping himself in the wreckage of his own car as it crumpled up in front of him. The minibus didn't stand a chance; the driver and all twelve passengers were killed instantly. Steiner’s car then burst into flames and shortly exploded.
Mischke knew that his friend was in trouble - there would always be another time to deal with the Norwegian, so he pulled into the side and ran to the Porsche to see if he could help his colleague but there was no movement. The he saw flames and ran away from the vehicle as fast as his legs would take him. He couldn't tell if Steiner were dead or just unconscious but on hearing the explosion, there was n o doubt in his mind. The car was totally destroyed that stopped him looking for anything that could be regarded as evidence.
'Drive on,' Olafsen ordered, 'I'm not taking any chances, this could well have been intended for us.'
Fr Jorgensen, whose taxi was six places behind Steiner, was torn between his duty as a priest and that of protecting the minister. He had already had his suspicions about the Porsche that appeared to be shadowing the Norwegian, but Olafsen was his priority. 'See if you can pull around the lorry when the road's clear ahead,' he ordered, 'it's imperative I keep that limo in sight all the way - imperative as in life or death.'
Mischke checked with the hospital just in case that by some sort of miracle Steiner had been thrown clear but his mentor was dead on arrival. Mischke knew that Steiner would have expected him to carry on where he left off and eliminate the target.
Mischke had not received the specialist training that Steiner had, neither was he a strategist but he had learnt much from his guru - how to survive above all else and many other techniques employed in the field. He possessed the qualities of initiative and diligence in all he undertook but he lacked the essential quality - experience.
Hamburg possesses many hotels, so Mischke knew he was in for hours of foot-slogging. The minister had to be staying in one of the higher class establishments, so Mischke decided to start at the top and work his way down the list.
Olafsen booked himself in at the Bayernhof and hoped that it would give him a little time before anyone would locate him. Fr Jorgensen secured himself an adjoining room and began listing possible ways the terrorists might attempt to get at the minister - a sniper, a bomb, an assassin either forcing his way in or in the guise of room service or perhaps they would go for something more sophisticated. He then thought about how he would go about the job if he were in their shoes. Time was on his side. He had suggested the Bayernhof to Olafsen to give him some thinking time. He should have at least two hours he thought, having taken a hotel about a third of the way down the list of local hotels. The cleric excused himself to do some shopping. 'I think you'll be safe enough for the time being, minister. I have to go out and purchase a few necessities for your protection.'
One of Steiner's specialities was the use of cyanide gas - it sometimes meant killing the odd innocent person but it is more reliable than having to depend on training a gun on a particular person, and it’s result almost as quick as a bullet. Mischke tried to learn from Steiner but he had neither the expertise nor experience to emulate him. He was on his own now and would have to use his own ideas and hope that he could carry them out to a satisfactory conclusion.

Tracer bullets warned Misty of the danger of trying to land his helicopter - fortunately they were still out of range of the tirade so they launched their own rocket in the direction of what they believed to be the source of the fire. He did not see the helicopter carrying the president that had just landed nearby and before he could get out of the machine, it exploded into a fireball that mushroomed into the night sky. Bullets were still being hailed at Misty as he hovered just out of harm's way. A second rocket from Misty soon silenced the offensive. Misty waited a minute to ensure that he had been successful and then he went in low, hedge hopping, fingers at the ready on the machine-gun button.
As they left the chopper they could hear the noise and confusion. Shadowy figures could be seen scurrying against the orange glow. Some grabbed the nearest weapon and began firing wildly in the direction of the stationery machine. Njoro motioned the others to follow him as he led them in a wide circle in order to approach the enemy from behind. A loud hailer screamed in English at them, telling them that they had just killed the president with their rocket.
'We need them alive or else we shall never penetrate their underground hideout,' Misty said but he was unable to make Njoro understand. He would just have to restrain the African if he started shooting. There could not have been above a dozen of the terrorists all told, nevertheless they were still outnumbered four to one. Schnipfler had taken one of the rocket launchers with him as a precaution. For a while they hid in some nearby scrub as they tried to establish who was in charge. The enemy appeared to be in total disarray, which made it difficult to pinpoint a leader. They had left the president’s helicopter to burn because there had been no hope of rescuing anyone after such a vast explosion. The terrorists now needed to regroup having lost both Lobengula and their second in command. At length a wiry man seemed to take the initiative and calmed down the remaining men. When they were silent he issued fresh orders to establish defensive positions.
'That's our man,' Misty whispered as he nudged Njoro and pointed at their assumed leader. Njoro nodded in acknowledgement but it was doubtful, despite Misty's gesticulations, that he understood they wanted to capture the man alive.
The wiry leader had a small box in his hand and began to hasten away from the general scene of activity. 'Great!' said Schnipfler, 'nothing like deserting your men in times of trouble.'
'I don't believe he is deserting them. Come on, let's follow him, I think I know what he's up to,' Misty proclaimed.
Wiry ran straight into their arms. 'I'll take that!' Misty demanded as he relieved the startled man of his little black box snatching it from him in case he had not understood. Wiry was about to try some heroics then thought better of it when he found himself on the receiving end of the ugly weapon pointed at him.
The box looked like some sort of remote control, which Misty guessed to be the passport to the underground hideout.
'Without me that will be of no use to you,' Wiry said in English, hoping it would at least buy his life.
'I wouldn't count on that, buddy, if I were you,' Misty replied confidently invoking fear into the terrorist. 'I know what it's for and where to use it.'
'But you could take months working out the first code alone.'
'He has a point there,' Schnipfler conceded.
'If I tell you the access codes, will you let me go?'
'I make no promises,' Misty answered acidly, 'but it sounds a possibility. How am I to know that you will not alert those inside?'
'You will have to trust me as I have to trust you.'
Njoro had no difficulty in finding the marked trees, even in the dark. It was obvious that the young terrorist was suitably impressed if not surprised. He gave Misty three sets of figures, each not only had to be entered in the correct sequence but there was also a predetermined time delay on entering each group.
Although the ground began to rise in front of them, they were not to know that the middle set of digits had set off an alarm that locked off the main section of the complex so that the men could go no further than the first thirty metres. They had pushed Wiry in front of them for surety. Schnipfler was about to ask how to access the rest of the labyrinth when there was a hail of bullets. Wiry took the first burst in the chest, lifting him off his feet. The others dived to the ground and returned their fire in the general direction of the assault. There was no means of escape, they had not noticed the entrance behind had now sealed them inside - they were trapped.

'It is good to see you again, my friend,' Dinh greeted. 'Surprised?'
Sham was speechless. 'I must admit that you were the last person I expected to see - and you took orders from the old man.'
'All carefully planned so that I can weigh up my new recruits personally. That way I feel much safer, I trust only my own judgement. Maybe you think I am very young to be in this position?'
'It had crossed my mind.'
'You must not let looks deceive you, my friend; I am older than you think. I trust you are not feeling any the worse for your encounters in the forest? No, how silly of me. Your combat skills are most impressive. I think that even I may have difficulty with you,' he said as though he himself were the last word in combat skills. 'Perhaps I will take you on some time but now that you are here, I will show you around.'
Dinh pressed a few buttons and a door built into the wall swung open, revealing a smaller chamber from which two other openings led into darkness beyond. The soldier pressed another switch and the left hand tunnel lit up. The first room they came to was an array of technology and monitors. 'This is our communications centre. You may wonder how we can receive signals in here but it is very misleading, we are four hundred feet above sea level and very close to the surface.' Two men with headphones over their ears, were seated around a sweeping console, one of them glued to a monitor showing activity Sham believed to be somewhere on the island.
'You have hidden cameras all around the place, no doubt?' Sham seized the opportunity to milk information that would help fulfil their mission. Dinh made no reply as he led Sham out of the room and along the passage to the next door, which opened into a vast chamber. This is the training centre accommodating a gym, firing range and a lecture theatre.
'Very impressive,' Sham commented, wondering whether he would be expected to have to be put through his paces again there and then. About a dozen youths were in the gym area being instructed in one of the martial arts whilst another group were doing some sort of circuit training.
As he closed the door behind him, Sham noticed another door further up the passage but Dinh had decided to turn back. He might think it impertinent to ask what was in there, he thought, but he knew the answer without asking - that is where the captives were. His heart sank because he knew it would be nigh impossible to penetrate the area. As though Dinh had read his thoughts he said, 'That's only a storage area up there.'
'Do you mean to say that everything has to be taken all the way down there?' Sham asked, hoping for he knew not what in reply - anything that might help him.
'We have a tradesman's entrance,' Dinh joked. Seeing the impressive arsenal in the first chamber confounded any ideas that there could be any prisoners in there, on the other hand, there could possibly be some truth in what Dinh said about another entrance. Sham was sure he knew where the prisoners were being held but how they could get to them was quite another matter.

Now, Dan Tindale had very little time before the meeting in St Wolfgang - if necessary he could swim across the lake, he thought frivolously. He was entirely alone having cut off everyone and he had no idea how he could rejoin Garee nor did he have any idea where he was. He was resigned to working alone - he had to cope. His latest evasive action should have shaken off all surveillance but he was no nearer to finding his family than when he was in England. He could not foresee how or when or even if he would be reunited with them. No doubt the convention in Vienna would be seen to go ahead under the circumstances and he must be seen to be absent - it was his only hope and as a bonus all the business should be completed in St Wolfgang.

Misty, Schnipfler and Njoro were trapped underground with no means of contacting the outside world because their RTs were useless in such an encapsulated area. Now they were under heavy fire and vastly outnumbered. The steel and concrete door, covered with scrub on the outside would be impossible to penetrate – the only means of being able to open this would be if they had access to their control room and even then it was more than likely there would be more codes to overcome. First things first. ‘How the hell can we beat that lot?’ asked Schnipfler, ‘only three of us and one can’t understand a word we say to him. Come on Misty, you are the expert.’
‘We have little option, we will just have to shoot it out and hope for the best.’
‘If this is the local Phoenix Group’s headquarters then they will have an arsenal of weapons that we have no hope in hell of matching. They know the layout of the place so we are at a disadvantage all round. No other person knows of this place and I doubt if most people have even heard of the Phoenix Group – I reckon it’s pretty new to this country.’ Then as an afterthought, ‘Maybe things are not so gloomy – remember the first time we came? We estimated that all told there must have been no more than a hundred. How many do you think returned after their unsuccessful sortie?’
‘I see your point,’ said Misty, ‘there can’t be that many of them here; maybe just a handful to keep things going and they are without their leader – at least that is what we assume. Let’s start with the odd grenade, I don’t think it will bring the place down.’
They held on to the grenade for a few seconds before letting go so that it exploded almost as soon as it landed. There was silence until after the dust settled and then someone returned the compliment but not being so wise, they threw it immediately giving Njoro enough time to pick it up and throw it back. After the explosion there was silence once again as the remaining terrorists were now beginning to fear that their enemy was a sizeable force. Guns at the ready the three stealthily but speedily made for the area from whence came the attack. Dead bodies, whole and dismembered were scattered nearby as they saw the backs of a couple of fleeing and very scared terrorists. Njoro thought it better to resort to jungle tactics and put down his weapon in favour of a knife. No sooner had he gone than he was plunging the knife into the first back that he saw. The victim gave a stifled grunt as he fell which attracted the terrorist in front of him but he was too late; before he turned round, Njoro with the knife still in hand, thrust it at the other’s throat. The first victim tried struggling on his stomach towards his weapon but Misty had caught up in time to club him with the butt of his carbine.
Things appeared to be looking up and the three felt a resignation of hope but all was not over yet.

There were shoes outside Sham’s place so Kasemsri cursed a whisper and hid himself with a watchful eye, hoping that Sham’s visitors were not going to stay all night. After all, he had already been pampered with a great reward so it was doubtful he would get that twice in such a short space of time. He was not to know that it was only one visitor and it was not of the female sort this time. Dinh had come to talk business and wanted Sham to join him on a venture up north – the ‘work’ involved a certain amount of danger but Dinh needed someone of Sham’s ability to lessen the risk of casualties. Sham was worried that he was going to be taken away before he had time to fulfil his missions: firstly to rescue Pui’s parents and secondly to splinter this terrorist organisation.
It was another hour before he left. ‘I must give you time to get as much sleep as possible because we want you at your best,’ he said as he got up to leave.
Five minutes after Dinh left, Kasemsri saw Sham open the door and retrieve his shoes so it was all right to make his call.
Sham explained why Dinh had visited him but the bad news was that he had to leave the next morning which gave them little time to search for the back entrance, get to Pui’s parents and get them off the island before light – it seemed an impossible task.
Meanwhile, Pui had learnt that she was needed urgently in St Wolfgang but the message did not say anything further. She was afraid to make a move lest they would be watching her and so kill her parents. The note only mentioned the convention in Vienna so there was no need to worry as she was travelling to a different venue and at a time well ahead of the congress. She packed her things having made a reservation over the phone and she was on the first flight to Munich.

Mischke may have been green behind the ears but he certainly lost no time in locating Olafsen. He returned to his far more humble accommodation and lay on the bed trying to fathom out a way to kill the minister. Schemes raced through his mind, most of which he discarded for an assortment of reasons so he drew up a short list of three possible ways. His main concern was the movements of his target because he had no idea of the minister’s immediate plans, hence ruling out a sniper’s shot at him. He thought again of Steiner and what he had told him about the use of cyanide – there was, of course, the usual bump into him method with a concealed needle in a brief case but that meant following him and perhaps being recognised or even getting the wrong person. He decided it would have to be in the form of a visit to his hotel. Cyanide gas in the room while he slept would make sure of his never waking again. Yes that’s it, he mused and began to plan out how he would do this. He was at a distinct advantage as he had all the time he needed and there was no-one who would be looking for him. He worried that it was all too easy – so he had to think of all the possible snags and eliminate them one at a time.
Strom Jorgensen, meanwhile, had made the necessary purchases and had returned to the hotel. He went to reception and asked to change his room so that he was no longer next to the minister but directly opposite so that he could have a clear view of Olafsen’s room.

Dan Tindale was wondering why the family was being dragged around the continent, surely it would have been just as, if not more, effective and certainly simpler if they had remained in England. It bothered him a great deal – nothing seemed to add up. The bottom line was that some group of terrorists had kidnapped his family and told him that they would release them after the Viennese congress, providing he didn’t attend – so why all the chase? He was now on his own as he had parted company with Garee, whom, he assumed, had made his way back to England as there was little else he could do.
It was time for him to think seriously and do his homework he thought as he lay on the bed the next morning. It was all so simple – his family had been kidnapped and the ransom was his forfeiting his part in the meeting in Vienna. Why had he chased across the continent himself – had it been purely panic or had he really believed he could catch the perpetrators? Was he going to ignore their threat and go to Vienna or was he going to consider his family and not bother with the meeting? It was time to make up his mind and at the same time, find out what else was going on in the world. He asked the proprietor to get him an English newspaper to catch up on what was being said about him and to find out if there had been any similar instances anywhere else in the world.
What surprised him the most was that there was very little reference to himself other than a very little article in one of the inside pages saying that there had been no news as to the minister’s whereabouts – not even a word about his family. Strange!
The lead story, however, was about terrorist activities in Zimbabwe. He then remembered that Pieter Foreskin was on the list of members due to attend the congress at Vienna. So! He exclaimed, there has to be a link. He checked his list of representatives expected to participate and found other articles that all seemed to link up.

The East-West cold war had completely thawed out but in the distance there were other problems brewing. America had a foothold in almost every country in the world one way or another and there was increasingly strong resentment to their interference throughout the globe and certainly there was political manipulation. Islam saw them as the biggest evil and threat in the universe, so they joined the bandwagon of terrorists, sympathising with the Palestinians in their perpetual fight against Israel for an independent state. Suicide bombings were not uncommon but Israel was again backed by the Americans and like the Americans, the Israelis asked for what they got – they could not see that they were the ones who provoked terrorism in the first place – the enemy of my enemy is my friend syndrome. Dark clouds were amassing throughout the world as both the West and Islam were trying to gain popularity. Anything at all in the way of terrorism was being blamed on the Islamists. Dan Tindale looked for such connections in the information gleaned from an assortment of newspapers over a period of time. Although he had made many observations and connections, he could see no relevance with the present series of problems appearing in countries that bore no connection with each other, the only common thread being the anti-terrorist convention in Vienna. If the terrorists were so concerned about this, surely they could catch all their fish in one net? Why all the cloak and dagger stuff with individuals? It really puzzled him. He realised that he must get to the newly arranged meeting in St Wolfgang and urge the delegates to unite and act against terrorism as a whole throughout the planet. His own country were fast becoming puppets, not of the European Union but of America. They continued to look the wrong way and so they would be tarnished with the same brush as the Americans – something he would have to fight against back at home – that is if he were able to return to his position in the government. The press had come up with the words Phoenix Group, something entirely new to him but apparently quite frightening as it was gaining momentum throughout the globe.
Dan Tindale was a popular minister and had the support of the vast majority of voters in the UK - he was being groomed to step in the shoes of the present Prime Minister, hopefully at the next election, and move into number ten. He was not a man who sought personal gain or importance, more a man with a purpose who saw so much that was wrong with his own country. One of his spare time hobbies was to study his country’s laws that were far too numerous and outdated. Unlike other ministers he was somewhat of a psychologist and knew that the more stringent the laws, the more people would try to break them, just like schoolboys who find a long list of rules on their notice board and go out of their way to break as many as possible. Schools were another thorn in the minister’s side too – they were not fulfilling their role and were fast becoming breeding grounds for rebellion, laziness, disrespect, drug dealing and many other unpleasant facets of society – even teachers often forget that these children will shortly become adults. However, now he had a few days to prepare his stake in the debate in St Wolfgang.

Hokomo was preparing himself for St Wolfgang and he too had a personal axe to grind and also reflected on what was happening back at home. He began to put on his thinking cap and put pen to paper. At least Japan was strong economically and was a major financial competitor.

Deep in the bowels of the earth, Schnipfler, Misty and Njoro started to search for the nerve centre of the Phoenix Group, uncertain whether or not it was the only sector in the country. They could hear music emanating from behind a closed door that seemed to be in an area cut off from them. Maybe this was the control room. In order to breach the safety area they would have to use a fair amount of plastic explosive, which would naturally announce their presence but there was no other way. Once in they searched around, weapons at the ready and discovered bedrooms, living quarters, store-room which contained domestic supplies and a locked section that contained weapons. No-one had come to challenge them which seemed a little strange. Further a field the labyrinth opened into a much larger single area; this was where they stored their vehicles. ‘If they keep their helicopters here, how on earth do they get out?’ asked Schnipfler.
‘There must be some sort of device that opens the roof,’ suggested Misty.
They broke open the stores and helped themselves to a few necessities and moved on to the canteen with an adjoining kitchen. Again, they entered stealthily because it was likely that there were duty cooks who would be preparing food, expecting the others to return. They were right, there were two of them but they easily succumbed to Njoro’s knife. That was easy; ‘Now for the room with the music,’ said Misty.
Not knowing what to expect inside, they gave a loud knock and waited. There was no response the first time so they knocked again, this time with the butt of Misty’s machine gun. The knock was answered. ‘Hello!’ said Misty as Njoro flung the knife at the man’s throat. The three burst into the room, not firing indiscriminately because they did not want to destroy equipment that would let them out but searching for bodies and making sure a bullet found its way to neutralise these technicians.
The next thing Misty did was to contact Pieter Foreskin to let him know what had happened; then they had to set about finding how to operate the means of opening the entrance as soon as possible because there were others who were deployed in operations elsewhere in Harare and who would be returning sooner or later. This found, they were then able to position explosives and set timers for when the others returned to base.
This done, they made a hasty retreat, leaving the entrance open for the return of the remaining terrorists who would have many surprises waiting for them.

Kasemesri uncovered the weapons he had stashed away in the nearby wood and handed Sham his share. Quickly they ran towards the place where Pui’s parents were being held. Looking for a rear entrance was no easy matter as it had been well concealed. The side entrance, as Dinh had described it, was carved out of the rock, which had then been replaced to make it look like a normal rock face. The only hopes of entering was by using some C4 which would just about awaken the entire island so their mission seemed doomed before they could make a start. ‘Now what do we do?’ asked Sham.
‘We go to the front and ring the bell,’ came the reply.
‘You jest, of course. Very funny!’
‘Not a bit, I’m quite serious. If they are off on a mission in a matter of a few hours there will sure to be a night shift doing the preparation. Someone should answer and we do the rest – as quietly as possible.’
There was indeed a bell, albeit concealed from the odd passer-by. It was only a matter of a minute before someone appeared, in fact they took no chances, there were two of them suitably armed even though they only expected to find their own men at the door. Sham was instantly recognised and so they lowered their weapons but that was their mistake as Sham swivelled and kicked both their guns out of their hands whilst Kasemsri rendered them unconscious. ‘There will be more inside, no doubt,’ said Kasemsri, ‘let’s go see.’
‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ greeted Dinh, ’can I help you?’ The two were taken aback at seeing the boss. ‘I thought you were too good to be true, Sham,’ he said pointedly.

Pieter Foreskin received the news of his president’s demise with mixed blessings. Governments throughout the world were quite ecstatic because of the corruption he condoned throughout the country. Now the Zimbabwe government was in complete disarray with the failed attempt at a coup leaving them without a leader. They were certain that it was not the last they would hear from this group; terrorists rarely give up after one attempt whatever their losses. They were sure that it would not be long before they tried again and so the army chiefs were called together for an urgent meeting. Had it been merely an opposition party that had rebelled, there would have been much sympathy for many would have welcomed the change of regime but the Phoenix Group were purely terrorists for the sake of causing disruption and chaos. Those who were the happiest were the white farmers whose land had been confiscated, their families threatened and some even tortured. Now the Prime Minister not only had to keep the country on its feet and try to minimise the vast pile of problems that had accumulated but he set about organising presidential elections which would mean observers coming from outside organisations to ensure that there was no vote rigging. This in itself, was an awesome task.
Like Dan Tindale in Britain, Pieter Foreskin was a popular and sincere man who had his country and its people at heart. He was also being groomed for the higher echelons of government but was not a favourite of the late president. He now felt reasonably secure and that there was no further imminent danger to his family; hopefully at a terrific cost, the episode should benefit his cause.

Mischke set about locating Olafsen’s room, which was not really a difficult task for an assertive and mean man with a single purpose in mind. That done he relaxed and made plans to remove the minister from the planet that very night. The sooner he fulfilled his mission, the earlier he would receive his financial reward. Not only that, he felt duty bound as a respect for his mentor. Steiner had told him how to handle cyanide because of its lethal powers and so he had to be very careful how he chose to administer the gas. There was nothing to be gained from a mass extermination and he certainly did not want to fall victim to it himself. He considered what could possibly go wrong but it all seemed so easy; the plan was foolproof; he would eat in the hotel restaurant and remain in the bar until the early hours and then wend his way to Olafsen’s room and fire a syringe of the lethal liquid through the keyhole and then leave the hotel right away. The first thing he now had to check was that the doors had standard locks with a normal keyhole. Should they be the self-locking type, then he would have to resort to his second plan – knock on the door, call ‘room service’ and when the minister responded he would squirt a vial of cyanide in his face. So how could he possibly fail? He need not even book into the same hotel. So much easier than pushing a man off a balcony or shooting him, both of which would attract a great deal of unnecessary attention.

Dinh produced something in his hand that stopped the two men in their tracks. They were caught and unable to overpower the man with the crossbow as they were not close enough.
‘Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me what you are doing here with this stranger,’ he addressed Sham.
Sham knew that there was no hope in hell of explaining away Kasemsri’s presence after the ritual and scrutiny he underwent to get into the place himself. Dinh was quite prepared for a sudden assault from Sham or even his friend, knowing the speed, power and accuracy of the little recruit. Sham remained silent which worried Dinh even more and he inwardly began to tremble. The two visitors were aware of this but the crossbow was so lightly fined that a slight touch would discharge the lethal bolt.
‘Maybe you have some more friends who will come looking for you too?’ queried the young terrorist. Still there was no reply.
They both knew that to be caught could be the key to their success so they continued to play dumb. Hopefully they would be locked away with Pui’s parents.
‘I really need you for this important mission,’ began Dinh, ‘in fact, it would be a failure without you, so you will be accommodated here to get some rest whilst your unknown friend will be housed in less pleasant quarters.’ Meanwhile a guard had been summoned who tied together the hands of each of the two men and gagged them using thick silver coloured adhesive tape.

Having discovered that the hotel doors were the more modern type, Mischke decided to resort to his second plan and then went to the restaurant for a late meal. Meanwhile, the minister had returned to his room without acknowledging Father Jorgensen who had by now made preparations for a good night’s watch and wait having stocked up on a thermos of strong coffee. Maybe nothing untoward will happen tonight, he surmised, but I must be prepared just in case. There was no keyhole to stare through so he made a microscopic hole in the wall and fitted in it an optical camera, which was also a sensitive listening device.

It was dark inside the room in which Kasemsri had been led after being stripped of his weapons but he sensed the presence of others. He could not say a word as the adhesive tape stuck painfully to his mouth. He listened carefully and could hear breathing so we carefully moved towards the sound. Whoever had tied his hands had done a good job; there was no way he could free himself.
Sham was put onto a mattress in an otherwise empty room and his fetters removed as there were no windows and the door was securely locked. He was given drink and there was a dim light and a makeshift toilet was positioned in the corner. He wondered where they had taken Kasemsri and knew that there was no hope of rescuing Pui Thanet’s parents. Dinh had told Sham that if he did not cooperate, his friend would be shot. He would stay locked up until they returned from their mission.
More important to the Phoenix Group even than the Viennese conference was the pre-arranged meeting of the terrorists in the same city. This was another big reason for global government ministers not to be around. It did not only concern the Phoenix Group but more especially the Islamic militants who were more numerous and stronger than the European based Phoenix Group, even though their members stretched far around the world, most of whom were quite ready to give their lives for the cause. They wanted the spread of Islam and the downfall of the ‘decadent’ West. The ‘interfering’ Americans and British were their main targets. The problem was to gain sympathy for the Phoenix Group.

Pieter Foreskin arrived in Austria in time for the rescheduled meeting, which now included more heads of state. The main item on the agenda was to form some large and efficient force to fight terrorism around the world.

In the Bayerhof Hotel, Fr Jorgensen first heard and then saw the unknown man stop at Olafsen’s door. He seemed slightly familiar but could not place him. He certainly had no business with the minister because he had been advised not to contact anyone at all – and that included room service. Any requirements were to be made through Strom Jorgensen. Now was the chance to rid them of these villains. Just in case he inadvertently killed the wrong man, he armed himself with a dart gun that rendered someone unconscious immediately. As soon as he heard the knock and the words ‘room service’, he silently opened his door and fired the dart gun into Mischke’s neck. He dragged him into his own room and searched through his pockets but there was nothing that could identify the assailant. He was certain he had the right man so he lifted him up and threw him through the window of his own room. Now it was time to accompany the minister to the rescheduled meeting place.

There was much to talk about at the meeting in St Wolfgang but Pui Thanet remained silent because there had been no word from her home country about the whereabouts of her parents. She was bitterly disappointed because by now she had hoped that her parents had been rescued and the threat removed from her whole family.
She listened with interest and sincere sympathy at the stories that unfolded from the various representatives but the main topic was to find a way to combat terrorism. No-one had any idea that the main congress in Vienna had been rescheduled but it was quoted in the press as being cancelled. This was the word that Dan Tindale had hoped would be the key to release his family. Muslim activists had also been in the news for some weeks now and it was difficult to pinpoint any particular area. Bombs had exploded in public places, gas attacks and all kinds of suicide missions. Terrorism was no longer open warfare but cowardly, underhanded acts that could not easily be detected only by the responsible organisation boasting its claim. Alas, America had sent their Secretary of State in hopes that they could control the anti-terrorist campaign. The Americans had not only become the most disliked nation but the most feared by all others other than their puppets in Britain.

The ‘opposition’ who were secretly meeting in Vienna were under the auspices of an Englishman who refused to become a puppet of the USA and so he readily accepted the Muslims as his friends and, as leader of the Phoenix Group, assured them of his full co-operation. He told them of recent hiccups and promised that his group would never again be depleted in such a way so long as the Islamists, who had very their own special training centres, would join with him. They shared experiences and offered each other help in the future including access to training and to their mutual arsenals. Even the Columbians were represented and offered access to their wealth of facilities and and vastly superior equipment. There were no members of ETA or the IRA present, neither were they invited because their causes were different and very much individually tailored. What they were concerned about was the downfall of the dominance of the American influence. Now that America had a cowboy in office at the White House they knew that he would be a warmonger and care little for true peace in the world. As far as he was concerned, there was only one country in the world which not only antagonised the terrorist and Islamic groups but also the Russians and Chinese and other Orientals.

Dinh’s sector was in dire need of funds – they did not have enough money to keep their own outfit ticking over so the plan was to make three simultaneous bank raids – two in Chiang Mai and one in Chiang Rai. Plans of the targeted banks had been in their hands for some time. They knew when, where and what their attacks on the branches were to be carried out.
Sham was handcuffed until they were well north of Bangkok. There were three teams of four people, all with specific tasks allocated. They had their own transport, all with false documents and number plates. They had handpicked their members very carefully, and their escape routes had been meticulously chosen.
All this time, Sham wondered how he could overpower one of the teams and make a getaway but at the back of his mind was Kasemsri and Pui’s parents. If he could free himself from his particular group then he had others to contend with and there was little hope of saving the lives of those back on the island. He was indeed stymied. On the other hand he had to keep Kasemsri and the other hostages alive. If he returned home as expected, then there was no guarantee that they would be kept alive. At least, there was nothing to connect Kasemsri with Pui’s parents. Perhaps an unexpected opportunity will present itself, he thought, and just hoped that something would occur out of the blues. He considered what Pui must be suffering hell; she must be going crazy with worry, he mused.

At St Wolfgang, each delegate promised a group of highly trained professionals to become part of an elite anti-terrorist force who would be ready at very short notice but persuading their governments for finance to muster up equipment was another story. Each would have to work hard on returning home and preseningt tangible evidence of recent atrocities. They had already named their new force GAT (Global Anti Terrorists). There was little else they could do at the present. Environmental issues had been forced into the background and problems shelved for the time being.
Dan Tindale’s immediate concern was to be reunited with his family and he tried dialling his home though he did not expect any reply as the whole place was completely stripped of furnishing before leaving for the continent. He tried phoning Garee but only his wife was at home and had no idea where he was; she surprised that her husband was not with Dan. The press had released a story only that day to the effect that Dan Tindale was regarded as the object of a terrorist plot. The headlines that day sent shockwaves through the country, giving much space to the fact that his family had just been found dead in a nearby reservoir, bound and gagged with weights attached to them. Dan was devastated at the news, the only slight consolation was that the heat was now off him personally, but what good was that to a man who has lost absolutely everything? Before Dan had returned home, his government had decided to put their full backing into fighting terrorism. As yet they had not heard of GAT as the whole meeting had been behind locked doors and no press given any hint as to who were meeting or for what purpose. As expected, the Americans tried to dominate the meeting and control GAT but with such anti-American feeling it was thought ill advised and that the group should be based in northern Europe.

Thailand had never been known for any terrorist activity, which set Sham thinking because he knew Dinh to be Vietnamese so it could be that they were basically Vietnamese on Thai soil or maybe there could be some Cambodian connection with the Kmer Rouge. That made more sense because they all had an axe to grind with the West, especially if they were from the North of Vietnam. Somehow and for some unknown reason, the Thais had been dragged into this unruly mob. Sham could not fathom it out but it was essential that the whole outfit in Thailand had to be wiped out but as yet he had no ideas forthcoming.
Three different cars were waiting at Hang Dong, some twelve kilometres south of Chiang Mai. There was also a van for their return. Dinh took charge of the first car, which was going to rob the biggest bank in the city. His number two took the second car with Sham, to keep an eye on him, to take the second largest bank in Chiang Mai whilst the four who travelled to Chiang Rai were all entirely unknown to Sham. They each donned masks to avoid recognition.
Dinh successfully relieved the bank of its entire cash and valuables. The Chiang Rai group was relatively inexperienced and made a real hash of things as someone had triggered an alarm and there was a shoot-out. The only member to survive was the driver and he managed to escape but without any takings.
Sham knew that this was his only chance of escape and would have to take things into his own hands as soon as they entered the bank. The driver was around the corner waiting patiently. Sham told the clients to lie on the floor whilst the other two took the money: one dealt with the cash at the tills whilst the other made the manager unlock the vault at gunpoint. As soon as the one gangster led the bank manager to the vault, Sham struck like lightning and downed the robber at the tills with a very strong kick to the head, rendering the thief unconscious and then tied him up. He told the clients to carry on as normal whilst he sought out the one who had gone to the vault. Some left the bank hastily whilst others continued with their business as quietly as possible according to Sham’s instructions. He did not want these men to live to continue their violence so he crouched at the top of the stairs ready to shoot the gangster with the weapon he had seized from the one who was unconscious. There was no knowing whether or not he would get a clean shot at the man without harming the manager. This he managed to carry out successfully then removed his mask and ran to the car not waiting to be graciously thanked by the bank’s manager who was indebted to this unknown man whose appearance was that of one of the gangsters. Sham yelled, ‘I’ll be in touch. Don’t worry, just call the police.’ The manager stood agog for a moment and then rushed to the telephone.
At the car, Sham shot the driver as he entered and kicked him out of the vehicle and then took control of the car himself. What lay ahead was a more difficult task than what he had just accomplished. Dinh was no easy man to outdo in any respect and then there was the other car to deal with so he first took the Chiang Rai road and hoped to intercept the retreating group, unaware that he had only the driver to deal with.
He found a suitable spot to hide in wait for the expected group. As soon as it passed, he pulled out and gave chase, still unable to see that the driver was on his own. He sped as fast as the vehicle would take him and then tried to ram him off the road. The driver was caught unawares and had difficulty in controlling his machine. He was unable to fend off the attack. The ramming continued until he was able to knock the vehicle down an embankment and into what appeared to be an approaching tree. Now was the time for the difficult part. He had to find Dinh’s party and deal with them, which would be no easy task.
He considered two plans to deal with Dinh and his three cronies. Either way he would have to get to Hang Dong where the van was waiting to take them back home. It was essential he got there before them. He would find a suitable spot to keep an eye on the van. Dinh was no fool and had the same idea so Sham was duly ambushed. Dinh was expecting four people to return together with the loot from the bank. Seeing only Sham, panic welled up within him. Sham had no time to plant any C4 in the van, which was his first intention so now it was down to a four-to-one shootout. He had expected to be the pursuer but found himself the pursued. Not only was his life at stake but those of Kasemsri and Pui’s parents. He had to turn the tables and give chase so that no-one would have time to make a quick call to those guarding the unfortunate hostages.
Sham quickly did a hundred and eighty degree turn, took out the carbine he had taken from the driver and gave chase. Bullets were flying everywhere and no-one seemed to care where they embedded themselves. There were bodies flying through the air as they tried to escape the tirade. The cars dashed down stone steps and through alleyways that barely accommodated the width of them. Some of Sham’s bullets killed two of the passengers and so he aimed at the tyres, trying to drive them off course. His own car was peppered with bullet holes but fortunately for him, none found flesh. The battle raged throughout Chiang Mai but the punctured tyres made it difficult for them to continue their pursuit.
He needed their original van if he had hopes of returning and rescuing the hostages. It was purely good fortune that no-one had yet contacted those back on the island and so there was still hope that they would be alive. How he would cope on returning was another story but it was essential he decapitated the head of the organisation. He had already removed the number two who was with him on the bank raid but he was not in the same street as Dinh.
The chase was long and tedious but neither of them would give up easily; their whole lives depended on success. In Dinh’s car there were still three alive, though one had been seriously injured which cut down on shooting power. Dinh was not driving so he was free to shoot at the swerving car behind him. It was pure chance that Sham managed to evade his pursuers and return to the van whilst Dinh was still searching the streets. He took out some plastic explosive, which he hastily affixed to the van with very little time to attach a detonator that he had surreptitiously acquired from Dinh’s store overnight. He dumped his own car and continued on foot, which made it more difficult for Dinh to give chase. Dinh swore at his annoyance for having lost his target and so he returned to the van with the other two who were still alive but readily ignored the third one who had been injured. He was callously left in the car. Now he was intent on keeping the fortune he had acquired, transferring it to the van and getting back to his own headquarters as quickly as possible. He would plan a welcome committee for Sham’s return after dealing cruelly with the hostages. He had never given a thought that Sham could have beaten him to the van. He loaded it with the takings and with his mate jumped headlong into the van. Turning the ignition, he started the van but Sham was waiting for him to get out of the crowded area and then triggered the detonator. Dinh, his friend and all that they had acquired soared into a mushroom cloud as Sham triggered the explosive.
Now it was safe for Sham to return and release the hostages but it would not be a straight forward task.
He entered the driveway and sounded his horn to alert those inside to let him in. That done and now with mask, he was able to trick the guards into thinking it was Dinh returning. How easily they were taken in. His machine pistol did the rest. He scanned the building cut into the rock and was able to release Kasemsri and the grateful parents of the Thai minister. Mission accomplished, he muttered to himself.


CHAPTER 12

The meeting at St Wolfgang had been a great success with no opposition whatsoever to the setting up of GAT (Global Anti Terrorism). Every representative agreed to offer help. With their permission, Fr Jorgensen, Misty and Schnipfler were elected to head the new force in their absence. It was later the next day that they received news about the Thai incident and so Sham and Kasemsri were soon invited to play a leading role in the new force. Pui’s parents had been returned to their home, much to the great relief and delight of their daughter whose reception back home was a tearful but extremely happy reunion for all. She had been assured of financial help for her work in Thailand and promised a team to rid the country of profiteers from the country’s valued wildlife. Olafsen returned home to continue his work, assured that Fr Jorgensen would be at hand should the need arise.

In Vienna the story was different. At the secret meeting, the Phoenix Group was chaired by the English rebel, who had grown thoroughly ashamed of the hypocrisy of his own country; he believed that something radical must be done right away. A typical example of their hypocritical government was the Prime Minister of Britain who had preached family values during all the time in office, just like is predecessor, and then it was discovered that this so-called ‘family man’ had been experiencing a long lasting covert relationship with one of his female ministers. Laws were constantly being made which rendered life intolerable for most of the country’s faithful electorate. For two decades new laws were increasingly being passed which made Britain more of a police state than the old USSR. Instead of looking to their European counterparts, they were looking to their puppet masters in the west and indeed their fellow hypocrites.
The Islamists were no fools either and had been monitoring what was going on. By request they were readily co-opted to the Phoenix Group, with Abdu Malek in charge of the Muslim sector. The group now adopted a slightly different role, being more active and determinedly violent. All present agreed that it was time to pay retribution for what they called the crimes of the West. When one looks at the situation in Britain, perpetrators of crime were being more and more harshly penalised for their misdemeanours. Psychologists, which the government lacked, knew that the more stringent the laws, the more people would go out to abuse them. Prisons were overflowing but the ironic thing was that those who put culprits in these institutions were themselves far more criminal than those they convicted. The general public had been brainwashed for years so that they demanded their pound of flesh; they wanted the keys to be thrown away whilst harbouring their own skeletons in the cupboard. Fortunately, some of the European countries refused to be drawn into hostilities. Britain and America had created a ‘holier than thou’ stance and stood their ground despite alienating themselves from the greater part of the world. The electorate of the majority of citizens had been brainwashed long enough, following their governments like lambs to the slaughter. The situation had grown worse than Germany was prior to the second world war but far worse. Ironically, what the West decried the Germans for, were now doing the very atrocities themselves.
Most of the meeting outlined plans for future attacks and the acquisition of urgent necessary equipment, which they organised by means of a series of raids on military arsenals around the globe. Funding was an urgent necessity, although many of the members had already amassed large sums, not for themselves but for the cause, over the past months and placed it all in secret bank accounts in Liechtenstein and Switzerland.
Silence was observed for two minutes in memory of their oriental brethren who had lost their lives, not to mention the embarrassing loss of such a vast amount of money planned to swell their funds, in their recent operation.
These people now controlling the Phoenix Group were not criminals as one knows them; there were no drug dealers or otherwise dangerous men; they were professional people such as doctors, lawyers psychologists, teachers and even sportsmen who felt that they had had enough of governmental corruption and cover-ups. Their voices were being ignored because they were only whispers in a society of growing power in both the media and government.
The new-style Phoenix Group felt that they could muster up enough support to cause sufficient chaos in order to make people sit up and take notice. ‘The time for talking has passed,’ said their leader, ‘we must strike now!’ He urged all those present to make their attacks simultaneous and fierce – then and only then will the general public be awakened out of their apathetic state. It is strange how it takes a war or a natural disaster to make people help each other. Demonstrations were generally ineffective because those in the upper echelons carried on regardless of public opinion – maybe a little modification here and there as a token gesture of appeasement, mainly to their own ends in order to regain their seats in government elections. A major problem was modern listening technology – it was difficult to prepare anything subversive without it being picked up on satellite and the essential element of surprise would no longer give anyone the essential edge. It would take time to establish bases underground, well hidden from local inhabitants and from heat reactor photography. Strikes had to be made at countries’ nerve centres but security was at an all time high. Guy Fawkes was the inspiration for the general plan which was outlined in skeleton form but very much modified to meet modern standards. They were not short of volunteers for suicide missions, and that included women too.
Racism had virtually died a death by the eighties but it was beginning to rear its ugly head again with a vengeance as people were fed up with foreigners living on their territory and taking their jobs and living off the state. Fascist parties were fast becoming the fashion throughout Europe because so very many countries were at loggerheads with their immediate neighbours and immigrants pouring in from all over the world. Many British were thoroughly fed up with their own way of life and wanted to get out – but where on earth was the grass truly greener? Many had burnt their boats and sold their homes to live elsewhere not realising that to visit a country for a holiday was totally different from living in the place. The population in many European countries was fast declining as people preferred to spend their money on enjoyment rather than raising a family. The European Union was fast collapsing at a greater pace than it was being augmented mainly from the old eastern block communist countries. Newly found democracy only invited poverty, unemployment and crime. Russia was no longer a super power and had its own internal problems despite having a popular and active president. It had generally faded from the international scene.

Abdu was responsible for the proposed American operation – his sector was known as the Phoenix Islamic Group, or PIG, whilst the Englishman took care of his home country with PUS, the Phoenix United Sector. It took far less time than had been expected to establish bases for the new style Phoenix operations.
Provided there were no moles in the outfit, then the respective plans would work – no warnings, total surprise – and hopefully a new start for the West. Germany and France had become the dominant countries in the new European Federation. Laws were not only far too numerous but some of them were outdated in terms of centuries. A new style of government was needed with laws completely abolished and a new set started from scratch. Many existing laws were based on religion but now even that was fast becoming a thing of the past as more and more people were becoming atheist; even the Islamic religion was losing its following and there was no longer the incentive for an Islamic dominated universe. Politics was a comic show because ministers had only entered the political life for personal gain. Democracy and Communism had both failed miserably – like the Buddhist faith, there had to be a middle way. The two burning questions were what would replace these two alternatives and who would administer a new style regime? It was all very well bringing down a government but there would be others waiting in the wings to make just as farcical a situation than that which already existed. Countries were forever going into a recession and the international monetary system wavered up and down faster than a yo-yo. The world was becoming smaller by the day but international trade was vital to most nations. The personal revenue created wealth amongst a growing elite but the poor were getting poorer too. Professional footballers were earning more in a week than a pensioner who has worked hard all his life, earned in seven years; it was absolutely preposterous.
Now it was time to gather together a think tank so that all would be ready for change before the time came. The Americans were good at making shallow promises and then found themselves in chaos, not to mention their military farce with their expertise in killing their own people with friendly fire.
If the Phoenix Groups were to look outside their own members for help, then it would not be long before the world knew what they were up to and they would be hunted down and destroyed before any scheme were formulated. The Phoenix Groups agreed that the most successful regime in modern times was Yugoslavia under Tito. Phoenix had members within their executive who were extremely capable of doing most of the hard work required to put the targeted countries on their feet but finding a perfect leader was another matter. This was a more formidable task than bringing down the governments they had already planned to destroy.
Abdu Malek was summoned for summit talks, which lasted several days. The outcome was most satisfactory for all concerned.
‘We have several entirely different cultures,’ said Abdu, ‘Europe is virtually the United States of Europe, but there will always be groups within this vast federation who want to keep their own identities.’
‘Whatever the outcome, it is vital that what we come up with will be better than the existing systems,’ added the Englishman. ‘The world is fed up with unscrupulous dictators but a dictatorship on the lines of Tito’s Yugoslavia has to be the answer. Running a country is akin to running a successful business.’
‘But we already know that businesses fail from mismanagement and there is certainly as much corruption in many businesses as there is in government and even sport,’ added Abdu. Eastern Europe is unbelievable in the way organisers of sporting activities only have certain sports on paper but then collect money from their government which goes straight into their own pockets. The martial arts activities were notorious for this but it was either being covered up or people were turning a blind eye because they themselves were finding fraudulent ways of swelling their purses.
America and its puppet, Britain, both out of favour with the rest of the world, needed something radical beyond belief if they were to regain credibility in the world. Both countries had suffered bigots as their leaders. They had been hell bent on destroying dictators who were not complying with their own ideals.
The only way to stop this western corruption meant dealing with both countries simultaneously, which was rather difficult with the time difference between the two countries. Thought was given to two differing methods of destruction but then there were multiple problems.

PUS had made their plans without a fuss and there were endless volunteers for proposed suicide missions. PIG members were equally enthusiastic but were rather concerned at the time difference between the two countries. Two identical operations with a big time delay could well be a disaster, as America would get wind of the British demise in sufficient time as to alert their own authorities, who would heighten all security measures. PUS had the explosives and the helicopters needed for their operation and there was certainly no shortage of volunteers, but PIG were unsure as yet, how to deal with the American side of the situation. They called themselves the Superpower, a name, which was earned both by its physical size and also by interference in every other country in the world. The USSR was once an opposing superpower but with the break-up of its members, it no longer ceased to be as such, thus giving the Americans even greater power. An illiterate teenager in Europe one day was watching television when the American President appeared – he referred to him as ‘The President of the World.’ “Out of the mouths o babes……” Both countries were dependent on a full house at their governmental sessions. The aftermath of both operations demanded skill and intelligence. Targeting solely the leaders of the two countries was not good enough – it had to be all or nothing. Abdu wondered how the hell he was going to deal with his almost impossible task, as his problems were way behind the British in terms of time. They just could not act successfully at the same time, which meant that he had to find a different approach. It was vital that the leaders of the respective governments and the majority of the ministers were together at one particular moment.
It was broadcast that there would be a long debate in the Houses of Parliament when, because of the nature of the subject, there would be a full house present and also the premier would be in attendance. They would be considering proposals, which their puppeteers had given them, for they too would be in session the approaching day. So that was it, a date was fixed.
Ironically, the date happened to be the fifth of November, a little more than a year after the formation of GAT. Fortunately for the Phoenix groups, terrorism was at a low period and had been for some months because of a recent peace solution in the Middle East, which led to a certain amount of complacency on behalf of the western governments.
The Englishman was no fool, having learnt so much from his neighbour over the years. He was efficient, clever and compassionate – just the qualities for a governmental position but he had already overstepped the mark and there was no going back on that. He was now a wanted man, a real terrorist as the world eyes such characters.
Abdu was still in confusion over his plan, as it could not possibly coincide with that of PUS, or could it? He had more thinking to do.

It took some weeks of thinking and organisation but at last, Abdu came up with a plan, which he considered as foolproof as any. He wished his partner in PUS good luck and hoped that the two ventures would be a thorough success. He had his team in place both for the missions and for the governmental takeover, though, like PUS, he was not yet decided on the person to take overall charge. Success for Abdu meant that his countries and fellow Arabs would no longer be in fear of interference from the super power which was their greatest thorn in the flesh. The Americans would have to eat humble pie - and about time too, he thought.

Fr Jorgensen spent some time delving into the working of the Phoenix Group and could not help but admire so many of their principles. He considered joining them at one time despite what had happened in recent months. Olafsen went into deep meditation about the events of recent and joined Strom Jorgensen in his commitment to their group despite his being the one time victim.
Pieter Foreskin studied all the news reports and was only too pleased to be rid of his own president and was now canvassing himself for that very position. He too saw the value of the Phoenix Group and made secret enquiries into their present situation and intentions, wanting to know if there was still an element left in his country. He could not believe that now, after the trauma of his family, he was in fact able to understand what they stood for. The country of Zimbabwe, so much like South Africa was now being controlled by their country’s mafia since the retirement of Mandela and likewise there was little rest in any of the African states. He too had considered joining the following of the Phoenix Group before he decided to run for president. Pui, on the other hand, was solely committed to her own country and the environmental problems and did not wish to concern herself with problems in other countries around the world.
As for Ayakin Hokomo, he was committed to GAT and swore that he would spend the rest of his life, like Pui, in helping to maintain his own country’s ecological affairs. A leading country in the business and financial world for decades was now beginning to crawl on its knees.

It was four o’clock on the morning of 5th November and the PUS team were all in position, together with the group of suicide volunteers which included two women. Three helicopters were packed full of explosives, which could destroy an area of ten acres to the depth of nearly a kilometre. There had been no problem in acquiring the necessary choppers or the explosives because PUS had inside contacts and so there was no hue and cry about missing military equipment. With so many buildings that had helipads in the city, it was not unusual to see these whirly birds coming and going around London at any particular hour.
Zero hour had arrived – the helicopters were ready in position. Now it was the time of waiting. No-one took any notice of the machines that stood on the helipads as it was quite a normal thing – but neither the cargo nor the pilots were in any way normal. They just sat and waited for the word to go. It was essential that both houses of parliament were in full session with a full attendance and in particular the Prime Minister essentially had to be there. It was a long wait and so far there had been no alert – nothing appeared to be unusual or suspicious. The main debate started at midday as planned and so the time for the attack was one o’clock to give latecomers time to be in their places. It was rare that there was one hundred per cent attendance because there were always cases of sickness or other urgent business to attend to, but for such an important occasion, it was certain that at least ninety per cent of them were going to be present.
At precisely one o’clock, the helicopters started up their motors – each one was situated at a different approach. There was naturally, a certain amount of apprehension amongst the pilots as they knew that this would be their last voyage to anywhere on earth and the last thing they would ever do, but it was all in a magnificent cause for mankind so that survivors would stand a good chance of a reasonable future and so would their children and grandchildren too.
The debate had started and there was no inclination of anything amiss in the city other than the usual stock exchange with its almost riotous activity both on the floor and on the telephone. Nothing seemed out of place and security around the city was normal and for the average policeman, boring.
Nobody took any notice of the helicopters converging on Westminster but when all three met and nose dived onto the Houses or Parliament, heads turned abruptly as a massive explosion echoed around the city, debris and masonry rising high into the sky in the form of a vast mushroom-shaped cloud. The Royal Family had been ousted five years after the nation’s referendum, some three years beforehand, which was almost unanimous in the belief that the country should be a republic. There was total devastation – but complete success for PUS. Meanwhile, an elite group from PUS took over the BBC station and announced that there had been a successful coup but apologised that it was necessarily with loss of many lives. A lone helicopter laden with a massive amount of explosive had also fallen onto Scotland Yard, killing all but a few office staff, who were seriously injured. The public were warned to stay calm and do nothing; they would be kept up to date with the political scene as it progressed. PUS was not only in control of the BBC but of the country. Other groups had entered the control towers of the main airports and were not letting any flights in or out of the country until further notice as the second wave of helicopters laden with a further amount of explosives were hovering ready to strike but it was hoped that having learnt what had happened to the Houses of Parliament, no-one felt like arguing. Relatives and friends of MPs were beside themselves with grief. The police and military were at the ready but it was made quite clear that anyone interfering with the new regime would be dealt with severely which meant that airports, already under threat would be blown sky high. For the time being, Garee Tomson was in charge of the country and made it known that thwe police and military would be under his command. Excepting Dan Tindale, who was in hospital at the time, all those responsible for running the country were dead. No minister was on holiday during this critical period because of the nature of the vital issues at stake and under debate.
In his ward, Dan Tindale could not believe what he was seeing or hearing on the television. He was not surprised after the demise of his family a year ago. Not only was he apparently the sole survivor, but his one-time neighbour was the arch terrorist. Satellite channels were still broadcasting and most of the independent stations had picked up word that the Houses of Parliament had been razed to the ground but no-one had any idea of details. He called for his personal belongings and immediately used his mobile phone to make a call to the SAS in Hereford who were ordered to take immediate action. In such circumstances they were short of ideas but they alerted the military departments throughout the country. There was very little they could do. Garee Tomson was in control.
In his short prepared speech, Garee mentioned that PUS, of which he was the leader, was now in charge of the country and that as he spoke, a team of his colleagues were restructuring the system. Private companies were only permitted under certain criteria but the major industries, what was left of them, would be state controlled. Work would be compulsory for all men under the age of fifty-five, unless genuinely incapacitated, and he would be notifying his proposals for salaries and wages in due course, setting a maximum of fifty thousand pounds a year and a minimum of thirty thousand. Pensioners - that is those above fifty-five, would receive forty thousand. Properties would all become state owned and any amounts stashed in private bank accounts above a hundred thousand pounds per family, whether in Britain or abroad, would be confiscated by the state and distributed to the poor – what remained would belong to the state. Here, Garee stressed that he abhorred corruption of any sort and that his ministers would not pocket anything for themselves or their families. He was to be regarded as the modern Robin Hood. He informed the nation that a new President and Prime Minister would be appointed as soon as possible.
Garee commandeered the county administration buildings in the heart of the Midlands where he and his ministers would set up the new parliament. Nominations for the posts of President and Prime Minister woujld be considered by the existing regime. Meanwhile, PIG had its members in position and ready to overpower the American administration. The Americans were more security conscious and Abdu knew that he had a formidable task on his hands. They would have awakened to the news about the strike in England and would automatically strengthen their security. PIG needed to be and indeed was a larger concern than PUS because they had been brought up to be fanatics and ready for any sort of action. Despite all this, the Americans did not have any representatives in GAT. However, Abdu’s team had already secreted themselves inside the country. Recent events caused both Britain and America to be left out in the cold, virtually sent to Coventry by nearly every nation in the world – even the British performers in the Eurovision Song Contest were booed and not one point allotted to them by any of the other twenty-five participating countries. The Americans only had themselves to blame for their unpopularity; nevertheless, that is how the situation stood. They had been experiencing attacks all around the world and their presence clearly made unwelcome. For years they sensed that they would be targeted in some major attack but they had no idea in what form it would manifest itself.
A coup in Britain was not only unbelievable but unthinkable and so GAT called a crisis summit meeting to discuss what options they now had. The country was officially lawless except what the terrorists regarded as their responsibility. Their prime duty was to appoint a leader who would be ruthless but sincere yet beyond corruption. Some of the PUS members were working all hours to sort out the problems in their self-appointed posts.
There was a no-nonsense regime – Northern Ireland was to be returned to the Irish so that the whole island would become a republic – those loyalists would either have to accept the situation or be re-housed on mainland Britain with guaranteed work and housing. Scotland and Wales would become federal states and independent from England. Their separate parliaments would have to set about making their own laws and appoint their own Prime Ministers – and mighty quickly too if any sort of order were to be maintained.
Dan Tindale knew that he was the only remaining minister and therefore for all intents and purposes, was the Prime Minister and President combined so he had to make some very quick decisions. He was hoping that his popularity would gain him some sort of credibility but PUS was more than a fair opposition for him – they were offering popular alternatives that went straight to the heart of the public. The country had seen multiple demonstrations in recent months, calling for the government’s resignation and showing their abject feeling about wars that had been forced on them without consultation. Dan Tindale stood alone as a representative of what had become a very unpopular government. Elections had been rumoured but there was no other party with sufficient zest and ability to make an effective alternative. The average Brit would usually vote for a party because it was traditional within their family and little thought was given to the parties’ manifestoes. Now out of the public’s eye, he had only one channel of retribution and he was absolutely determined that the perpetrators of his family’s demise would pay very heavily indeed.

History shows that in general, it is only the good that are assassinated. Now it was time to change this. Corruption in all the high places in America was at an all time high. It was Abdu’s responsibility to see that it was stopped immediately. A strike similar to what they had planned for Britain would only alert the authorities to expect similar action. Abdu would never volunteer for a suicide mission himself as he had to remain steadfastly in control of PIG.
It was predicted that the President would address Congress and the Senate together to report about the demise of the British government and say what they would do about it. This was something for which Abdu was hoping and praying, as it would place all his targets in one location. ‘Perhaps a little of their own medicine is called for,’ he surmised. ‘If they are stupid enough to kill each other with friendly fire in war, then they could well be stupid enough to put all their eggs into one basket.’
Jerusalem was the perfect target for the Muslims but most of their attacks were in the nature of car bombs in such places as bus terminals, discos, hotels or markets. This sort of action was without prior warning and effective but it always brought repercussions that were far more severe than their own attacks. Such action was not productive. Abdu had to eliminate all his targets in one strike – a difficult task. His scheme had to be original and unique, something that no-one would even consider remotely possible. He had no inside contacts and so the task was virtually a non-starter. He thought of the maxim ‘Set a thief to catch a thief’, but still he was without inspiration. There is always a way, he thought, but in this case it still eluded him. He thought of the important people in government, then what if he found someone, what could he do? The Secretary of State had to be the answer. He had access to all military equipment so he would have to operate remotely. One of his team could surely ‘accidentally’ attach a small device to him that would render him a laser target – the rest was easy. Acquiring smart bombs or missiles was no problem; they now had an arsenal full of them. The President was due to address both houses at midday their time, so Abdu had little time to prepare things though there was no problem in securing a well-hidden launching area.
Following the Secretary of State was no easy task as he was transported by car most of the time and there was little chance of any personal contact. Abdu personally took charge of this task though he was obviously Arab in appearance but no-one took notice in such a cosmopolitan area. As a precaution, he attached the first device to the Secretary of State’s car as he ‘stumbled’ on its proximity. Ensuring that he had a target within the building was another matter. He armed himself with recording equipment and posed as a reporter who waylaid his guest, the Secretary of the UN. Two birds with one stone he considered, I cannot believe my luck. Pushing forward and being assertive as most reporters are, he managed to get his cameraman to attach the necessary device to the underside of his briefcase.
Abdu signalled to his temporary headquarters and gave the necessary instructions. Meanwhile, his second in command arranged a diversion not too far from the White House and used two of his suicide volunteers to be captured, thus diverting attention from the real target. The President, meanwhile, prepared his short trip with augmented security.
It did not seem feasible that a violent attack could take place amidst such high security. The President was too self-assured to consider any danger. He did not consider for one second, that there would be a Kennedy-type attempt at his life but he had armed security on top of all buildings within a two kilometre radius. He knew, or rather, believed that he was secure. The Pentagon was also ready for an assault, making sure that any aircraft approaching the area would be turned away upon threat of destruction. The President was smug in the knowledge that both civil and military airfields were secure and that the television and radio stations were well covered too. He added to his precautions by refusing any journalists access to his meeting. He planned on speaking to the nation later in the day via the television networks but until then, all was completely and utterly secret.
Abdu smiled to himself as he thought of the devastation he would cause if all went according to plan. He was not an optimist but with his usual efficiency, he was cautiously optimistic about this major operation, the likes of which had never on this planet been equalled. Any warning would alert senators and congressmen alike and all would be doomed to failure, though he knew that he himself and PIG were safe, because they were quite unknown to the general public.
At five minutes past twelve, an FBI agent urged himself into the building, showing his true credentials and explaining that the President’s life was in danger. He was allowed into the hall but what he was about to say was of little consequence as the missiles, launched from as little as three kilometres outside the city, were already travelling on course. The FBI man was too late with his information because as he approached the President, there was an almighty explosion followed by a sequence of resounding detonations that shook the city for miles around. No-one inside the building survived. At the same time the Pentagon was razed to the ground.
Before the nation heard about the catastrophe in Britain, they found themselves in the same situation themselves. Although it had not struck them at the time, the country was now lawless. However, Abdu and his team had quickly taken over the television stations and under threat of being shot, the staff prepared the PIG leader to appear on screen on the state channel. He had left nothing to chance and other major installations were under PIG’s regime with very little resistance.

The GAT members listened and watched with interest to what was being told the nation. It was indeed a terrorist and unforgivable event but there seemed to be a good deal of sense being spoken. There were no immediate counter measures being planned but rather they saw the logical and reasonable side to the situation. They found themselves agreeing with almost everything that was being said. What could they do because they were not able to restore something that no longer existed? If they were to get rid of PIG, then who would replace them? At least they could avoid a panic if nothing else, which meant gathering a large force together. On the other hand they could come under the auspices of Europe but then the British would certainly rebel at being governed by the French or the Germans, the two strongest federal states. No, to invite foreigners to step in would definitely be a recipe for disaster. Had there been a bloodless coup, maybe GAT would have joined PUS themselves.


CHAPTER 13

The aftermath left much work to be done; it was essential that presidents were appointed from their own countries. PUS had sufficient candidates in their own group without searching far a field but with PIG, the challenge was a difficult one because not one of their members was an American citizen.
Meanwhile, the reality of what had happened had affected other countries in many ways - they were now in considerable confusion, both in Europe and in many cities of other continents, particularly in Japan. Both financially and trade there was chaos, the latter almost coming to a standstill.
PUS was the first to appoint a President and a Prime Minister, neither of them by the democratic voting system but chosen from the PUS executive. Nominations for both posts had been numerous and the task of selection, difficult. PUS wanted two men who were impeccable in character, with administrative acumen, a likeable personality, and with the assertion of a good business executive. However, the PUS committee had to lay down the specific duties for each post and so a new constitution had to be devised so that the two leaders would not overlap responsibilities and tread on each other’s toes. The selected two must essentially be able to work together and with advisors from the PUS administration so that decisions and actions would not be impulsive or ill advised. Previous rulers with high qualifications in law had proved a failure. Common sense had to prevail. With Garee mainly responsible for the demise of Dan Tindale’s family, he thought it unwise not to offer him a post in the new government despite the fact that he would be an excellent man in any position to which he were appointed and he was the only legitimate member of parliament still alive. England had become multi ethnic, immigrants or their families almost constituting the majority - the English were very sore at foreigners coming in and claiming everything possible from the welfare state and giving little or nothing in return. This new regime had to be radical. Regarding immigrants, the first rule was simple – either at least one member of the family worked or they would be kicked out of the country and that did not mean they could go over the border to Wales or Scotland to escape because such laws were being passed in order to avoid this occurrence. Though independent, they would necessarily need to co-operate with the English Parliament so frequent summits were part of the regular programme. The biggest problem would be people not wishing to remain in Northern Ireland – if they did not wish to become an Irish national then they were free to settle in one of the British states, given a house and assured of work. Again, it was an unenviable task but with foresight it would resolve so many problems.
One Peter Fox was the second in command of the military and police; a man of integrity and a most valuable asset.
The new President was named as David Goodman and the Prime Minister, Michael Tindling. There would not be a House of Lords neither its equivalent – those days were over. No-one was ever again to be knighted for Britain was no longer a monarchy; there would be other high honours for those who unreservedly served their country way beyond the call of duty. The two new leaders were to appear at a press conference, which would be screened on every television channel simultaneously.
The new administration would be unpopular with the rich, especially those who had accumulated wealth but it would be very popular with the average worker and the pensioners who, together, would form the majority of the mature population. Smoking, which brought in a vast revenue with the old government would be banned in an attempt to lengthen the lives of the English population. The tobacco industry had been a major player in the corruption game and now they would be out of business altogether, which was the cost of corruption. Although cigarettes brought in a huge revenue from taxation in the past, there were other means of revenue, much of it from the smug wealthy population. If people could not take responsibility for their own welfare, then there had to be a body who would help them. The Health scheme would be total with nothing paid for treatment or medicines. Private treatment would not be permitted so there would no longer be a two-stream society, which gave privilege to those with money. Private schools were going to be taken over by the state – if people did not like the idea, they could send their children to other schools in Europe, if they would take them, which would mean a good deal of self sacrifice for the parents because the new income laws would restrict their capital.
Attitudes would have to change rapidly and people would necessarily be more tolerant of each other. All this should reduce crime and hopefully the ridiculous prison population too that was weighing heavily on the tax payer. It was time to look at other systems that were far more successful such as those of Sweden. There they believed that the country’s population owed a duty to those who could not fit into society. The British had tabooed sex as something evil for centuries and had become hysterical, thanks mainly to the media and the Church. The new regime would make very few laws – rape and incest with an Age of Consent at puberty. Religion had virtually gone from Britain, the churches were really struggling for survival so the old fashioned taboos had gone out of the window. Common sense was now beginning to prevail. PUS was intent on common sense and honest policies prevailing above all else. The high proportion of divorce would no longer be because a legal marriage was no longer a necessity. Old British values had to be replaced by modern age common sense – and that meant no-one should harm another being or even an animal – very similar to the Buddhist way of life. Too many people lacked respect for domestic animals, particularly in the Mediterranean countries. The new regime was certainly encouraging common sense and were beginning to understand the nature of people. Yet – no-one could understand why people existed – to what purpose. It was becoming more and more believed in the western world that once flesh and blood, with its chemical reactions, were understood, then it was obvious that once the flesh died, so did the chemistry that made up the soul.
PIG was beginning to think logically in the same way as the west and realise that so many problems of the past have been to no avail. No longer were women to be regarded as inferior beings and dress in a manner that was not only different from the rest of the world but in a manner that was not natural. They had to find some way of conveying the modern way of thinking to the rest of the Muslim world – not an easy task amongst the older generation to say the least because even the young population were inheriting beliefs from their parents and grandparents and their thinking archaic.
It was all very well PUS and PIG re-educating part of the world to modern thinking but there were hundreds of other countries, some of which were only just beginning to learn about religion – hundreds were still worshipping the sun and moon. History has shown that religion has caused more deaths than any other single factor, possibly greed and jealously jointly coming a close second.
Abdu was completely sympathetic and agreed with everything that was beginning to take shape across the water but he had a much more formidable task in finding someone with such ideas and the will to carry them out in the ‘one time super power’. He was determined that their self-imposition on other countries was well and truly a thing of the past. Many self-righteous people had made known their desire to become president but mainly because of their need for power or self-importance. Abdu ordered the destruction of the White House – the incoming President would live in a normal family residence with no more privileges than any other working man. He had scrapped the applications of hundreds without interview. Drawing up a shortlist of the right sort of man to govern such an immense country was no easy task. It was no easier trying to find a suitable team to support such a man if ever they found one. However, he eventually narrowed down the applications to a shortlist of three and then invited the head of GUS and David Goodman to join him in the selection – after all, they necessarily had to work in close cooperation with each other, neither one being subservient to the other. Michael Tindling was invited to help in the selection of the new administrative positions too.
It was commonly agreed that the obvious man for President was an unknown figure in Politics – that in itself was a good point. So it was that Mark Harris was duly sworn in as the President and in place of a Vice President, Matt Baldwin was appointed Prime Minister, thus giving the country a complete change of constitution. In due course, the important ministers would be selected and sworn in; all completely new to the field of politics, though one could say there was a certain amount of politics in their professions. Nobody wanted to see America as a super power but they all knew that in order to succeed, the country had to be divided into smaller sections – not states as everyone knew them – no governors but a four-pointed regional administration answerable to and in co-operation with the new Prime Minister. History and tradition had been cast into obscurity forever – there was to be a completely new start in compliance with the modern world and it was hoped that other global nations would take note and follow suit. If this could be achieved there would be little or no use for a defence programme or indeed a sizeable military force.

GAT was completely dumbfounded at what was going on. The basic American policies were those of Phoenix as a unit; even Hollywood superstars with a gigantic income became ordinary citizens with ordinary incomes – very liveable but nothing outlandish. Tycoons were knocked into reality as their companies were taken over by the state. Mansions were also taken over by the state and the land used to build smaller dwellings. Even the mafia respected what was going on and knew that their criminal days were virtually over. There was no further need to live by threats and fear. There were always those who were too lazy to work and used the numbers game or protection as an easy income but they knew that there was little else left except illicit drugs but with a death penalty hanging over anyone found with illegal substances, there was a total change in attitude and the Columbian barons knew that they had to look to other countries to sell their merchandise but those other countries did not have the finance that their old customers used to provide but even these other countries were beginning to fear for the future. However, GAT members felt quite impotent to do anything at all – there seemed little use for them except in minor states where problems arose from time to time where maybe rebels were trying to take over a country.
Father Jorgensen and Olafsen were so impressed with what was happening that they spent much of their time in conference with the Scandinavian governments, trying to get them to copy what was happening in the western world. This was not such a big task as it would have been in the Mediterranean countries because they were already much nearer to that style of life, though they were currently under pressure from the larger European powers. The Med countries were a law unto themselves, especially in the Balkan region where life could not be compared with any other culture in the world. Those who have never experienced life in the Balkans have never lived! Even EU members had their own laws despite Brussels – they ‘bent’ them to suit themselves. Those brought up in the north and western parts of Europe were brought up to a different culture – all very efficient but very stressful. There may be much to be said for the easy-going style of life where nobody cares about anything. There is the other side of the coin – for example, those ignoring traffic signs (traffic lights to most are just a rough guide and who cares if one drives the wrong way down a one-way street?) often result in serious or fatal accidents. People live for the present and are, perhaps intentionally, short sighted. Who cares about paying bills, or, on the other hand, collecting money owed to them? It’s just another facet of life.
China was beginning to emerge as a superpower but now they saw what was happening the other side of the globe, they wondered whether it was worth the effort. It would take only little to adjust to the new style of government in the West and maybe there would be more co-operation all round. They would soon command the space race because the West had cut right back on their space programme in order to spend more money on finding a way to combat the super bugs and other long standing serious diseases. Nature seems to have a way of keeping down the population by coming up with new apparently incurable illnesses every few years. David Goodman was making health and education his top priorities. His attitude to foreign affairs was that they should sort out their own problems as they had enough of their own to sort out without interfering in affairs that did not directly concern his own people. PIG, under Abdu Malek was becoming the watchdog of the world and was very much regarded as a hero and not a terrorist villain. His team were more trouble-shooters than villains.

There was a rather important detail that Phoenix had overlooked – all federal states of Europe had their own ministers who were elected to the European Parliament. No-one had thought about this and they were naturally still at large. Under the new system Germany and France were the dominating states. Britain would have been the third but a referendum showed dissatisfaction about European membership as they failed to gain anything at all from their participation except large bills to support the minor countries. Spain had progressed beyond all expectancy and was about to join the dominant force. Britain still kept its own currency, refusing to adopt the Euro. However, the German Chancellor was adamant that no-one in the federation would succumb to terrorism. All previous purges only increased hostilities but he was as single-minded as previous presidents of the USA and had not learnt from their bigoted ways. The British European MPs were also up in arms at the coup in Britain. There had been fruitless discussions behind closed doors for some time with the British members claiming that they should be running the country. Goodman’s regime had no interest in becoming part of the federation and was thus popular with the majority of the English. Naturally, the rich who had suffered financial losses were very much opposed to his regime and a few ex Northern Ireland loyalists too but there were insufficient numbers in all to form any formidable opposition.
The German Chancellor decided to call in GAT because he and some of his senior ministers were not going to tolerate any form of pressure from terrorists; after all, they themselves could have been the victims. The problem was that GAT members were secretly supportive of Goodman’s regime and were reluctant to offer support. The French and German presidents had already tried to bring the regime to its feet with sanctions but this failed to work because the country had once again become self sufficient in the way it was several decades ago before foreigners had taken over many of the top industries. The nation was once again beginning to flourish and become self-dependent excepting oil from the Middle East and a few lesser important imports. Even the UN failed to show any real enthusiasm for the German Chancellor’s determination to bring down Goodman’s regime. They could not offer any real suggestions as to how to tackle the situation. America was out on a limb and it was up to them to sort out their own problems. After years of interference into other nations’ affairs around the world, no-one really cared what happened to them. In actual fact they were becoming a much more dependent state and at last were not sticking their noses into others’ affairs. They were realising a fair amount of success but not quite on such a scale as the new British regime.
When the German Chancellor suggested invading Britain there were reminiscences of the world war and there was immediate uproar and opposition to such a preposterous idea. The majority would support at a GAT led force to bring down the regime in their own way but that’s as far as it went. No-one could envisage the British being subjected to air raids and bombing. On the other hand, if elite forces went in to tackle the problem then that would be regarded as tantamount to terrorism but it seemed the better of the two options. The meeting ended with nothing concrete being achieved and the whole matter shelved for a further month while GAT and the European federal states thought things over and tried to come up with a more acceptable plan. The German Chancellor was not at all pleased and some of the minor states showed their distaste by boos and jeering as they left.


Olafsen and Father Jorgensen thought it more apt that the German Chancellor should be brought to heel himself as they did not like his attitude at all. France was less than enthusiastic, for like Spain, they were much dependent on Britain for their wealth of tourism and thus could not muster any enthusiasm at all. Misty and Schnipfler were also in favour of bringing the Chancellor into line with popular thinking, which seemed to make GAT into an alternative terrorist organisation. Britain was being reborn, a modern reformation that was long overdue. Maybe the German Chancellor was envious at what was being achieved in Britain at a time when his own country’s economy was nearing rock bottom.
GAT believed in talk rather than action so they had to go away and find the best way of dealing with the situation. Their first task was to speak to the old British European MPs and try to pacify them. They were now representing a country and government that was opposed to most of what was going on in Europe. There were other smaller countries waiting on the touchline to join the European federation but now that Britain was found to be achieving success on its own, they were very sceptical about joining.

GAT, in fact, were not away very long. They quickly got in touch with Dan Tindale who had them spell-bound with his story of the incredible chase he experienced throughout Europe. He had no hesitation in putting forward his suggestion that would avenge him of his family’s demise and rid the world of the mastermind behind the terrorism that he struck at the heart of the English capital. As all the terrorists who partook in the attack were dead it only remained to deal with the person or people who masterminded the two suicidal missions, assuming that those responsible did not partake themselves. This operation demanded a small elite force but the spadework necessitated finding out who was behind the American attack. Strom Jorgensen and Olafsen volunteered to head the team to make the enquiries but Dan Tindale insisted he also joined the small group; so determined he was to end the spate of terrorism, whereas Misty and Schnipfler were detailed to head the elite squad and all things being equal, eliminate the culprits. At least they knew who to deal with at home but they waited patiently for the outcome of the enquiries which he hoped would lead them to the person behind the American assault. The plan was acceptable to the German Chancellor who felt confident that they would eliminate the terrorist thread.

So the scene was set and GAT was in action to settle the score and hopefully appease all sceptics throughout the world.

To GAT, there was no indication that Phoenix had split itself into two groups, though the leaders of GAT were very aware of the existence of the Phoenix Group and knew that it would be the obvious starting point in the search for those who organised the mass destruction of the American government.
There were some survivors in non-governmental areas, so the obvious places to start were the television studios, where they had seen some of the terrorists in person. All the staff were in fear of reprisals and thus reluctant to speak openly. There were others who wanted personal praise and recognition but their information was of little consequence because most of those described could have fitted half the adult population.
‘Our work is by no means over. We may have found the perpetrator of the massive attack this end but the next part will be much more difficult.’
They all agreed that the type of attack was typical of what had been seen in the Middle East and so there seemed no doubt that there was some sort of Muslim connection. They consoled themselves that there was no IRA or ETA connection because their problems were local and there would be no reason to suppose either had any hand in it.
They left the European side on hold for the time being so that they could concentrate on the American plot. To do this meant infiltrating their organisation and neither Strom Jorgensen nor Sven Olafsen was able to do this so they called upon Steve ‘Misty’ Foggle who was an American citizen, though he had spent most of his life outside the country.
Misty was an out-of-work mercenary, as he put it, looking for a group that would employ him and give him the financial reward he was seeking. He put the word around, keeping a careful eye on the regime in hopes of gaining some information. He frequented bars in the seedier areas of New York and Chicago, expecting to find some sort of lead. Many of the saloons only brought him trouble as he played the tough guy looking for someone to employ him. He found many a mafia boss ready to take him on but he knew that it would not lead him anywhere. He could have made a mint of money had he not been loyal to GAT, for with his qualifications and experience, supported by the necessary references, he could have become a rich man, knowing that it would take many a wily criminal to put one over him. He was nobody’s fool, even on his own. He did not need Schnipfler’s support, valued though it was; he could cope very well on his own.
It was many bars later that he found a young man who had had too much to drink and was boasting about his past achievements. Fortunately, like many Americans, Steve Foggle was circumcised and so could pass himself off as a Muslim. The inebriated young man was easily taken-in by Misty’s supposed credentials, though many were true, and promised to put him in touch with one Ahmed Jaoui, who was Abdu’s second in command, though there was no mention of any positions in the hierarchy. Others in the bar were more suspicious of what was going on, knowing that this young man had gone way beyond the limit of his drinking capacity. Knowing looks and nods were exchanged which meant that when Misty left the bar, there was a small reception waiting for him.
A group of three self-confessed judoka did little to scare the experienced Misty and there was a street fight. Misty let them get the better of him at first but always remaining firmly in control until he thought that enough was enough and started to use his own skills. Bodies went flying through the air and landing in all sorts of weird places including rubbish heaps and dust bins. The young man who had promised to put Misty in touch with Ahmed Jaoui remained inside not caring what happened outside the bar as long as he was not involved.
The dust had not had time settle when there was a surge of police cars with lights flashing and sirens wailing as officers leapt out of the vehicles with their guns at the ready. They forced Misty to assume the necessary position, making him lie on his stomach with his hands behind his back. This was no embarrassment to Steve Foggle but he would have been happier without the interference. He could easily have overcome the police officers but succumbed readily so that there would be no cause to be remanded for any reason at all.
At the police station it took less than an hour to convince the police that he was a government agent on an assignment and that they had ruined his chances of arresting the leaders of a drug smuggling racket. He thought this tack may help convince them of the urgency of his mission.
The police checked his credentials and eventually released him with profuse apologies.
The meeting with Ahmed Jaoui took place the following morning in some sleazy bar down a back street alley. Misty told him of his experience, which was partly true but slightly exaggerated to make him sound a real villain.
‘You must understand that we cannot accept just anybody without a thorough check; neither can we give away any of our own business. One has to be ultra careful these days when there is an anti-Muslim campaign globally. I will get back to you in due course after we have done the necessary checks and of course, after consulting the boss.’ Misty dare not show too much interest in the hierarchy so he refrained from mentioning anything that might raise eyebrows. He gave him a number where he could be contacted – this being a mobile phone he purchased from a pawnshop so that no-one could possibly trace him.
He had already booked into some crumby guesthouse in case he were followed. It would of course be standard practice in such circumstances.
It was no surprise to find that his tail had got in front of him and a gang of three thugs ambushed him. This was standard procedure to test how he would cope in such a situation. They came at him with chains and iron bars and they had obviously been well trained for their kung fu was very effective and Misty had a tougher job on hand than he was prepared for. He managed to dodge most of the blows and let them continue attacking for about five minutes without taking any serious punishment. Then suddenly it was as though a new man had taken over as he changed stance and went headlong into the attack with fists and feet alike. He had no problem in relieving them of their weapons upon which they ran away but Misty was not going to let them off the hook – he was a fast runner and easily caught up with the one at the rear, knocking him to the ground so hard that he could not regain his senses enough to get up and stop Misty from catching the other two who were adequately punished. Misty slapped his hands together as he gave a victorious grin and then melted away into the distance. He sensed there would be a fourth member of the gang lurking around somewhere which was confirmed when someone poked a revolver into his back but this was no threat to Misty’s expertise as he broke the youth’s arm and so the revolver fell to the ground. Now, perhaps I can get to my place without further interruption, he thought.
He returned to his room and rested, patiently waiting for one of the group to contact him the following day. At least it gave him time to regain his strength should he need to use it unexpectedly. He knew that the future held much physical and mental demands so he chose to trim up his body to while away the time.

Dan could not wait for the action that would even up the score: Garee Tomson had to fall and the harder the better, he pondered, though normally he was not a violent or vengeful sort of man. Having met Misty, he was completely confident of the outcome for he had every respect for the man. Tough though he was, he was still very much a law-abiding citizen.
It would be impossible to bring Garee to trial being in command of law and order in the country and violence would place GAT in the same category as the Phoenix groups. How best to deal with him was a difficult problem. There was, however, the criminal court in The Hague who had the authority to deal with such people. Dan Tindale would naturally be the chief witness. Arresting the man might be a different matter altogether but there should be enough support as he had already presented himself on television in the first instance.

The phone rang as was expected. Misty picked it up and spoke calmly, knowing who would be the other end but he was wrong, it was Strom Jorgensen offering his services to deal with the Tomson affair.
’OK, go ahead,’ agreed Misty. ‘It’s a good idea.’
Fr Jorgensen rang the bell at the Tomsons’ home. Flo answered, as was expected. She was little informed as to the dealings with her husband. All she knew was that he was now in a high position of authority in the government and had nothing to do with his affairs. The caller said that her husband had a problem that needed her immediate presence; he was unable to come to the house or contact her himself. She trusted the priest without question but the taxi driver was no ordinary chauffeur. Schnipfler was at the wheel and took her to a private airport. ‘ Where are we going?’ asked Flo, ‘where is my husband at the moment. He didn’t tell me he was leaving the country. I expect him home for his evening meal.’ There was no reply. Schnipfler just continued as though he hadn’t heard.
Flo was soon aboard the small jet and on her way to a very lonely place but there was no intention to harm her – well, not for the time being as everyone knew that she was no driving force behind her husband, just a normal housewife. In no time at all, she was whisked away to an unknown location where there would be no contact with the outside world.
Dan Tindale had been kept up to date with things by Schnipfler and was pleased that all appeared to be turning out well.
Meanwhile, Misty had been contacted and a meeting arranged that resulted in his being accepted into PIG. He was amazed at the size of the organisation and knew that he and his team had more than a formidable task to take them on. At least he was now on the inside and the rest he had to play by ear. It would certainly need a greater force than the elite team they had in place at the time. Although Abdu was obviously the man who masterminded the American stroke, the others in the group were in cahoots and needed removing.

In England there was an embarrassing situation for if rebels had taken over and appointed men in high office who knew that they were put there other than by democratic means, it meant that they too were just as guilty as the terrorists and should theoretically be dealt with in the same way, yet they had put together a very much common sense regime that was popular with the majority of the adult population. The question arose now, should this factor be ignored or the whole regime taken down and democracy returned to the country? It was more in the interest of the nation for everything to remain in place because it was fast becoming the envy of the rest of the world who were hoping to emulate them before long. GAT and PUS each knew that they had to let sleeping dogs lie. Even Dan Tindale admired the work of the new authorities and would have been happy to be part of the team had Garee Tomson not been a part of it.

Strom Jorgensen did not hang around, he sent an errand boy to Garee to tell him that his wife had been abducted and that she was at the hands of criminals who would not think twice about raping her or even carving her up. ‘I don’t care about that cow,’ he replied and carried on as if nothing had happened. Strom Jorgensen was dumbfounded, that was the last response he expected to hear. So now he had to think again or maybe Tomson was bluffing; perhaps he did care because it was difficult to believe that anyone could be so callous. Now Jorgensen had to find another means of luring Garee out of England and preferably out of an EU state. An immediate country came to mind and a good reason for getting him there. An invitation for Garee and his number two to attend a meeting in Switzerland with a reason that would give Garee the opportunity for more power. Although the English regime was now rid of such megalomaniacs, Garee was the exception so this could be his Achilles’ heel. Invitations would have to be in writing and on official paper with an authentic-looking stamp and signatures.

Misty knew that there was no way he could deal with this alone. He learnt, however, that they were based in Morocco somewhere between Tangiers and Tetouan. The former, being a tourist city would be easy to assemble some more of the lesser-known members of GAT. He still had not met Abdu Malek but he was expected to meet him in Morocco. At least this gave him a certain amount of leeway and could contact Schnipfler and get him to get a team into Morocco.

Garee swallowed the bait and he was soon on his way to Switzerland and the small capital of Berne but he wanted to be the sole representative and so he made the excuse that his second in command had to remain in the country to deal with any urgent contingencies that may arise in his absence. Olafsen arranged a welcoming party as soon as Garee set foot on Swiss soil and was duly arrested on the charge of multiple murder. Flo was duly informed about her husband and believing him to be an honest and upright citizen, protested and demanded to see a lawyer immediately but that only made matters worse for when she was interviewed by a lawyer who was delegated, she just learnt more and more that she just could not believe possible about the loving husband she had known for almost twenty years. As for Garee’s callous remark on being told that his wife had been kidnapped by rapists and murderers, she went into a psychotic frenzy. Her life had now been completely turned upside down.
Dan Tindale was delighted by the result, needless to say but expressed sympathy for Flo who was genuinely ignorant of her husband’s criminal activities. She reflected upon the night she and her husband helped Dan Tindale but had no idea that he was behind the whole affair more that he was being kind and helpful.

With Misty now in Tangiers, the heat was on. It would be no easy job to take out any single member of PIG. This would require a lot of planning and there would be little opportunity for Misty to be involved in the initial work so it would fall upon Jorgensen, Schnipfler and Olafsen to come up with the brains for an operation. Meanwhile, other GAT members were entering the country in dribs and drabs. Some based themselves in Ceuta, a Spanish enclave a few kilometres away. Acquiring weapons in a country that is basically Arab, though they would deny that themselves because they call themselves Berbers, would be a nigh on impossible task if they thought that they were going to be used against fellow Muslims. Not that all Moroccans are devout Muslims – they drink alcohol and have covert relationships with women out of marriage and occasionally eat pork – when confronted about these matters they say it is all right because it is just between them and their God. Maybe a touch of smuggling over the border may be the answer, especially if the Spanish were sympathetic to the cause of GAT. Having had terrorist problems with ETA and some Spanish already members of GAT, it may not be quite so difficult as first thought.

In Wales, singing could once more be heard in the valleys as the coal and steel industries, which had been dead for such a long time, were now buzzing with work. New plants were opening up and there was life in the country again. The Highlands, one of the world’s last wastelands, were bringing people back out of the cities and there was pride in every family’s contribution to their country. As for England, there was work for everyone as all foreign-owned companies were re-possessed and there was more than enough work for everyone. The Health Service, which had become apathetic and with doctors taking up posts in other countries, were beginning to get their act together and new hospitals were being built with special facilities for student doctors and nurses. One of Goodman’s main concerns was Education. The embarrassment of the sixties had to be washed out and the nitty-gritty of basic education had to be re-introduced. Teaching used to be a vocation for decades but so many teachers left the profession because they were scared that any good teacher would be tarred with the image of paedophilia about which the public had become hysterical so recruits to the profession were there because they had a brain and it was another means of earning a salary. The old maxim of ‘Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach,’ was no longer true because it took too long to realise that the very clever could not impart their knowledge; one had to have a love of imparting knowledge and a genuine interest in those they taught.
Crime in all three countries was at a record low and the prisons were fast emptying as the new laws were common sense and with work being plentiful and the poor and pensioners now respectable members of society, there was little reason to steal from fellow citizens or defraud honest companies. Once again, after over five decades, people wanted to help each other and not just care about themselves. The transformation in such a short time was fantastic.
In America, the transformation was less dramatic because they had to be seen to be squeaky clean and there was so much undoing to do before building that it was a much slower process. At least they were now coping on their own and not interfering with other countries – and that was a major development. Changing attitudes had to be seen by the rest of the world and that was no easy task. Their regime hoped it would not be long before other countries welcomed them as tourists again.
Naming the new English regime was a point of contention as they were unlike any other known party. Much though was being given to this so that all nations would know what they stood for. It was basic common sense living, so that was it – no gimmicks, just the CSLP, the Common Sense Liking Party. Wales and Scotland liked that idea too and thought to add an extra letter to prefix the party with the country so there were now the WCSLP, (Welsh), the SCSLP (Scottish) and the ECSLP (English). America, as always, had to be different and came up with the New American Renaissance Party, or NARP.



CHAPTER 14

There was no real use for PUS any longer and with Garee Tomson now gone, it was advisable to disband and announce to all European countries that it lo longer existed, thus adding more credibility to the new type of politics that was emerging. Even the major players in Europe were beginning to think in the lines of the British example. Spain, Austria, Italy and Germany certainly showed interest whereas France, the old Anglophobe was too proud to follow anyone but themselves.
PIG, on the other hand was a different matter and they had been making their presence felt in many Middle Eastern countries. Their latest bout of terrorism had been hitting Iran.
Up in the Er Rif, south of Tetouan lay a very old and sleepy town of Chechaouene where GAT were gathering under the pretext of tourists. The natives were very friendly and went out of their way – for a dirham or two of course. Honesty was not one of their strongest assets but they could be relied on to find anything at the right price. The only problem was that they could never keep anything to themselves and so one would be inundated with indigents offering to obtain whatever one had just paid a high price for in order to keep secrecy. So it was not a good idea to mention any form of weapons to them, except the odd antique in the souks. Even in the loneliest spots in the hills, one could not use an odd tree to urinate without a ‘lurk’ appearing out of nowhere, even in the middle of the night. The only way for GAT members to get together to discuss anything was to have a booze-up in a tent, knowing that they would be spied upon but unlikely to be approached. Tourists like beer, especially the men-folk, so they would not be out of place. There was always the chance that someone looking for a dirham or two would take one aside and offer every carnal pleasure possible. That was a chance they would have to take – at least they could make verbal contact during one of these gatherings, which they decided to do every night. Father Jorgensen decided it wiser to wear ordinary clothes as a catholic priest would not be very welcome in a Muslim country, though they tolerated the Church of England priest in the little church in Tangiers. Strom Jorgensen was one of the brains in the GAT leadership and everyone respected him so that his suggestions were always considered practical and sensible.

It was pure chance that on the second night of their meeting, none of the GAT leadership was present. The others were well into their second hour of partying when one at a time the members were being dragged into the scrubland and their throats cut. It was some time before one of the party noticed that their numbers were depleted; it seemed impossible that PIG knew of their presence but obviously they did – but how? Did they have a mole amongst them? Had some local overheard what someone said? That was highly unlikely as anything to do with their presence there was spoken in covered tones. Yet somehow they did know. GAT members were all without any firearms and the enemy were well concealed. They knew that it would be at least three days before they had access to such weapons. Snowy White called them together as a matter of urgency. They noticed that their members were disappearing but they had no idea why or how. At first they thought they had found a bit of skirt and took them into the bushes but they realised that it was highly unlikely as others would have known. Most of them had knives with them but that was the extent of their armoury.
They had been taken by surprise and without anything to protect themselves. With only twelve of them left, they decided to pack up, remain together until they reached their accommodation and retreat along the main road. Snowy White knocked on the door of Schnipfler and reported what had happened. There was shock at the news but nothing with PIG was a complete surprise – they were well trained in all forms of combat and tactics.
Jorgensen, the brains, was notified immediately which meant that his already thought-out plans were relegated to the scrap heap. Now they had to find some other means of bringing down PIG and especially Abdu. Jorgensen had some serious thinking to do and they were on foreign soil, which the locals knew far better than GAT.

PIG was obviously efficient and well organised, let alone well informed. So now there had to be a radical change of plans but what?
They managed to slip away without further loss of life.

There were no volunteers in GAT, surprisingly enough, to go on a suicide mission and blow up the PIG headquarters whilst they were all in one place, so some other means had to be found to bring them down and finish off that sector of Phoenix. PIG was obviously alerted to the presence of some enemy force and would therefore strengthen their security all round making it even more difficult for GAT who were not used to working in the sort of heat they were experiencing in northern Morocco. The burning question was how did the opposition know of their presence? Maybe time would tell.
Michael Tindling was in touch to find out how the mission was going and was naturally very disappointed at the news. He wished the team good luck and hoped that the news would be good the next time they spoke as his government was hoping for a quick end to the problem so that with Garee out of the way, they could continue with legitimate business provided there was no interference from PIG. He wanted and end to that sector and hoped that other offshoots of the group had not started up in other countries around the globe.
The court in the Hague had not wasted time and quickly found Garee Tomson guilty on all accounts of multiple murder and condemned him to life imprisonment there in a special prison which really meant the rest of his life. Flo did not go to the trial and quickly filed for a divorce so that she could continue her life in reasonable normality.

Father Jorgensen was operating on territory he knew to be difficult not to mention a well-trained force in opposition. He was at a loss how to tackle the situation with minimum loss to his team. They moved their meeting place to the openness of the Tetuan city and took shelter in the home of a martial arts expert one of them had contacted during his tour of the city shortly after entering the country. He was a real gentleman and offered them his house whenever they wanted it. ‘You will be safe here, ’he said, ’both from the excessive heat and those you are hiding from.’
Olafsen duly thanked the family and they did just as they were asked, ‘My house is yours,’ he offered the senior members of GAT. It was too much to expect the others to join in and so they each sought independent accommodation elsewhere.
The food seemed pleasant enough but hygiene on the whole was well below what they were used to even under canvas. At least they were all now much nearer PIG’s headquarters which were unknown to most of the population. The fact that they were attacked bothered Snowy White and much of his time was spent in meditatio0n trying to work out who had led them to their meeting place in the hills. Although their host was an honest man, they decided that they would not hint at the real reason for their presence. All their uniforms and smuggled weapons were carefully stashed away in a spot between Tangiers and Tetuan in hopes that no lurk would spot their hiding place, which was certainly well concealed from all and sundry. There was no hope whatsoever of acquiring any form of transport whether on land, sea or air. PIG’s headquarters were well and truly fortified and it now remained to find out who the mole was and to find a way of destroying PIG’s complete outfit. Neither task was anything less than a major challenge despite Misty being n the inside. Had they discovered who Misty was? Did he have any clue as to the mole because they received no warning from him? He had to be the key man in the situation but there was no way of contacting him. The local Muslim community were no allies when it came to trouble with fellow Muslims – so GAT had to be extra careful, and their continued presence in the area only served to arouse suspicion.
To add to their problems, one of the younger GAT members got into a scrape with a local pimp who tried to palm him off with some young flesh. Fortunately, the locals only gave the impression of being aggressive but as soon as someone turned the tables and decided to give them some agro in return then they became complete cowards and ran away. To exacerbate the situation the weather became hot and sticky, something that GAT members found difficulty in coping with and gave the opposition a distinct advantage. So, all in all, there was a distinct shortage of plans that promised a successful conclusion to the affair. They had to fight fire with fire yet they had Misty on the inside and their top man was quite impotent to make any sort of contribution. He had been excluded from the sortie that reduced the GAT members at their nightly meeting. He knew nothing of it until the next day when he overheard the PIG members talking about it. He was sad beyond belief and the adrenalin well up inside him which spurred him on to find a method of dealing with these terrorists. He looked for their weaknesses but found little that would be of any consequence.
Misty knew that it would effectively disrupt things b y cutting off the head, though there was always someone ready to stand in their shoes. It was very difficult to end Abdu’s life as he was always well protected, just like any mafia group, surrounded by his elite bodyguard. So now he had to think of a plan that would turn them against each other and at the same time hopefully find out who the mole was that led them to GAT’s evening activities. Some things in life will always remain a mystery and people go to their graves not knowing the answer. However, Misty’s resolve was absolute and it was now time for action instead of being the perfect member for the PIG team. Maybe somebody within suspected him from the beginning and was ready to stick the knife in but he had to get in first. He reflected on the Vietnam days and how he not only survived but managed to reduce the population of the Vietcong. He was used to the hot sticky climate; he was used to danger; he was aware of all the traps. Yet now he was quite unsure how to deal with the present situation. It would be easy to steal into his tent and slash his throat but on their home ground the risk was far too great.
The next day, word was all around the camp that GAT had moved their operational headquarters but fortunately, nobody knew where they were. It would be too obvious if he tried to set them against each other; it had to be far more subtle.
There was no doubt that Misty had made friends within the group but there was bigger doubt as to whom he could trust. He remembered his father saying ‘Trust nobody, not even your own father’ who demonstrated by sending him up uq ladder and asked his father to hold the ladder firm with his feet and hands and then found that he was falling to the ground because his father went away and left him stranded alone.
He wondered if Abdu had been given a similar lesson and did not trust him wholly. He had to assume the worst.

Father Jorgensen, Olafsen and Scnipfler were at a total loss and were each hoping that Misty would come up with some sort of plan, being on the inside. They were suggesting all sorts if plans, none of which would bear any sort of fruit. ‘We’re lost,’ suggested Snowy White, ‘ we may as well return home. I am completely out of ideas, and Misty hasn’t contacted us.’
‘Have faith, my son,’ urged Father Jorgensen,’ all is not lost – yet,’ he added.
‘OK,’ said Olafsen, ‘ but that’s all very well,’ but5 we can’t leave Misty on his own. After all, he is the professional.’
‘Fair enough,’ added Olafsen.
AS it happened, Misty had enough ricin as to wipe out all the group, but how was he to administer it?
Fortunately, Misty had made friends with the cooks, being a man that needed constant refreshment, so it was not difficult to gain access to the canteen.
Whilst the cooks were busy with preparation for breakfast, he helped himself to a huge sandwich and at the same time he planted ricin in the tea for the rest of the company.
It was a chance he had to take. There were times that one had to take a chance or just leave well alone.
Misty decided to divert attention by playing a practical joke. He found the tanks that fed the water and planted some green dye so that all who took a shower were well and truly green.
Most of PIG thought it a huge joke but there was one who was suspicious of the whole affair.
Misty knew this person to be a sceptic and arranged for his sudden departure surreptitiously. Being a minor member of PIG, noticed his disappearance – thank goodness, but it was a chance that Misty had to take.

It was breakfast time the next day and as PIG lined up for their meal, ricin was everywhere, especially in the tea but no-one suspected a thing let alone a throw-back to Misty. This section of PIG had to cease to exist if the modern world were to thrive in a civilised manner. The ricin diminished the group considerably but unfortunately it did not affect Abdu. He hated tea, anyway. His bodyguards were either dead or extremely sick which caused the leader considerable concern. So, the head had not been chopped off the organisation but it was left very weakened.
That night the GAT leadership, ignorant of the fact that PIG was depleted, decided they had to take action and move in. They realised this meant a shoot-out and it was quite possible that they would lose most of their members but it was a chance they had to take. Misty would have to play it by ear, as there was no way of contacting him.
Smuggled weapons had been brought into Morocco by sea and found their way to the GAT headquarters. If there were a mole in the camp then the enemy would know they were coming that night and would obviously prepare an ambush – if not, then the mole was in the GAT camp, or maybe even a total stranger to either outfit.
Misty, by now, was a valued and much respected member of PIG and so it was not at all surprising that Abdu called for him and told him that his body guards were all sick and that he was needed to stand in and protect Abdu. Naturally, Misty took this in his stride and told Abdu that he felt very privileged, which pleased the leader’s ego quite considerably.
This was an ideal opportunity for Misty to dispose of Abdu but the leader told him that they had an important mission in another country and that they must depart within the hour. Abdu did not mention where they were going but they had to fulfil a task in Algiers which would involve several members who were quite prepared to die for the cause but as Misty’s responsibilities were solely to guard Abdu, he was not asked to sacrifice his life. Misty inwardly gave a sigh of relief as he had never been asked to give his life for any cause before.
Their arsenal was certainly more stocked than GAT’s and the necessary equipment was gathered together for a sea trip into Algeria. This journey had obviously been made before as they seemed to know the route as well as they knew the local roads.

As it grew dark, Schnipfler and his men prepared for the assault, not knowing that the camp was deserted. There had been much preparation and training for the operation but they had no idea that they were not going to face any opposition at all. Misty had been unable to get in touch and tell them of their plans, neither had they a chance of telling Misty of their own intentions and to make sure he did not get involved in the line of fire.
Father Jorgensen could not believe the tranquillity of the place and thought that they had got wind of their visit or at the very least, were waiting in ambush. They scoured the area but there was no sign of them. ‘Maybe they’ve moved their camp,’ suggested Snowy White.
‘Maybe they have gone to attach us,’ suggested Olafsen.
‘Too many “maybes”, said Father Jorgensen. ‘Anyway, let’s proceed and have a look around. We could lay some traps for them for when they return,’ said Snowy White.
What they were not prepared for was that the camp had been booby-trapped just in case some nosey characters came around.
They approached with caution, Strom Jorgensen leading. From a distance all was as though everyone had fled in haste. They looked for telltale signs from Misty, but there was nothing. Schnipfler began to get worried.
‘Enough of that,’ reprimanded Strom Jorgensen, ‘You know very well Misty can look after himself.’
‘It’s easy to be too confident and then you get caught when you are not expecting trouble,’ said Olafsen.

Misty was well on his way to Algeria, acting as the perfect bodyguard along with all the PIG members which now numbered only eighteen in all. Their mission was to place a few car bombs in strategic places. They knew that there would be less of them on the return journey having volunteered with trepidation to sacrifice their lives for what they believed to be a great cause.
Before they left, they removed all evidence of their ever having been in Morocco so they knew that if someone stumbled upon their camp, they would gain no information whatsoever – and that is exactly what had happened. To leave a booby trap would only signal to the locals that something was amiss and to leave one item of equipment would have been suicide – but Misty was no fool.
He knew that his colleagues would come looking for him to acquire news of PIG’s activities and if possible to arrange a meet to discuss plans. Being so close to Abdu, there was no chance of contact with the outside world. –they had seriously wounded body guards on their hands – it would have been foolish to take them to the hospital or even a private doctor as too many questions would be asked so Misty was given the unenviable job of disposing with the maimed bodyguards – that meant first killing them and then disposing of the bodies. This gave him the opportunity he was waiting for. There were two of them waiting to die so the first job was to brainwash them and instil into them that Abdu had ordered their deaths. The next job was to put them in a place where PIG would not be likely to go but he had to dig two shallow graves nearby to look as though he had obeyed Abdu’s orders. This done he had to convey to them about Abdu’s instructions but there was a language barrier. However, it was easy to understand their leader’s name and the rest had to be gesticulations. One could visibly see the ire within them as they were told about Abdu’s orders. The fact that he had not killed them enabled him to befriend them but Misty did not trust people sufficiently to give anything away. Neither was in a fit state to walk, in fact one of them only had an hour or two to live. The other started to shout from within the bushes when they saw the GAT team looking around. Thinking that he would be getting revenge on Abdu, he told them that Abdu had gone to Algiers. He tried to indicate that they would not be returning.
The first thing Olafsen did was to get in touch with the authorities in Algeria and warn them of an impending terrorist attack. The burning question was, would Abdu make Misty go on a suicide mission and then replenish his stock of bodyguards from Algeria? There would be no shortage of volunteers, especially as they were well paid. Danger was no problem to the ardent Muslim, depleted though their following was.

Misty had to take out Abdu at the earliest possible moment – for the time being he was the one and only bodyguard and was trusted implicitly. He knew that PIG was now short of members and that Abdu would try to recruit more members from this Muslim country so Misty had to act fast before he had chance to do this. He also believed that GAT would, by now, be on their way, assuming at least one of the old bodyguards was still alive. However, he knew better than to take things for chance and so had to act on his own initiative as the opportunity arose. He was also aware that there was a mole somewhere but he had no idea at all whether he was in the GAT camp or the PIG or even some independent informer on PIG’s payroll.
PIG could not just roll into Algeria en bloc therefore the terrorists had to make their own way there in ones and twos and then meet up in the capital.
Abdu and Misty hired a taxi to convey them to a suitable pre-arranged meeting place. The burning question was whether Misty should take out Abdu before they arrived or later. What advantage would there be in waiting for GAT other than having some sort of support near at hand? He knew, or rather, hoped, that the authorities would be prepared for them and would scrutinise every person et«ntering the country whether male or female. There was no sexual preference where terrorism was concerned – even though females were of lesser importance than the males in the Muslim world, as far as terrorists were concerned, there was no difference.
What to do, pondered Misty. I could easily take out their leader now but is it the wise thing to do or not? Misty was just at home with a knife as he was with a gun or even his hands. Even if he ended Abdu’s life, it would not be the end of PIG or terrorism but it would a serious blow that would set them back years.
Misty Foggle had a duty as a fellow member of GAT, to rid the world of terrorism and avenge Dan Tindale at the same time.

Could the world exist without GAT or any other anti-terrorist organisation? The modern day answer was no – except – in an almost utopian world that Britain and America were now adopting - their outlook had changed beyond recognition; they were unlikely to expect any terrorist attack on their home ground now that they were no longer interfering in other countries’ affairs.

OK, this was it. The taxi, as ordered, dropped the pair well into the suburbs of the city. The other sixteen were well on their way to the meeting place just outside the city. ‘I have to make a move very quickly,’ thought Misty. ‘I owe it to my colleagues and to those who have suffered at the hands of these animals.’
There was far less likelihood of PIG using this country to increase their numbers without their leader so it was imperative that Misty acted before they met up with the others.
‘We need to increase our membership,’ commented Abdu, ‘These people would certainly be committed if we choose wisely but they would need a hell of a lot of training to be of any use to us. Our main training camps are in Afghanistan and Libya,’ he added.
Slowly, Misty withdrew his knife. Abdu could not possibly have seen such a covert movement rather some instinct told him that he was in danger. He swung around and caught Misty by surprise and there followed an immediate tussle, each struggling to take command of the knife. Abdu was really strong and was chosen for his quick actions both physically and mentally. It was quite a secluded spot so the scuffle did not attract any attention. Each gained the upper hand in turn for a few seconds but neither could control the knife. They knew they were each fighting for their lives. Misty tried to grab a nearby stone but just could not reach it.
Eventually Abdu had control and was about to plunge the knife into Misty but miraculously he just seemed to hang in the air as though instantly frozen by some magic spell coming from a Mortal Kombat character. They had in actual fact drawn the attention of a man in a block of flats who was watching through a pair of binoculars and had phoned the police. As they had already been expecting the arrival of the group from Morocco, they were very much on the ball. They did not want to be embarrassed by another international incident. It was a perfect sniper’s shot that came from the same window as the man with the binoculars. The police had gone to his place immediately, saw what was happening and acted on impulse whilst another car tore around the corner and disgorged a troop of plain clothes policeman, heavily armed who removed Abdu from on top of Misty and then duly arrested the GAT leader.
It did not take long for Misty to prove his identity and then gave information about the others entering the city. The other GAT members were still in the air at the time and saw what had happened on the TV news.
Each PIG member was recognised and duly arrested but there was still a mystery as to the identity of the mole. The GAT team had no intention of returning to Morocco so that was of no importance.

The perpetrators of the two acts of terrorism were now seen around the world to have been dealt with in a satisfactory manner and nations were now studying the progress of the new style regimes of –Britain and America.

GAT decided to continue in its present form and attracted more members. PUS was virtually knocked out of business but PIG remained a force to be feared and were continuing training under a new leadership which was remote from recent events. They were now being monitored so they had to be seen to be inactive as they knew they would be the first to be suspected by anyone in the world if there was any form of terrorism.

It is accepted that modern day warfare is cowardly and underhanded in such a way that no-one knows who their enemy is any more. The recent problems leading to a change of regime in Britain and America were tantamount to ending this kind of warfare but it will always continue where there is unrest. It has to be said that many acts of terrorism have been carried out as a last resort against bigots and such drastic action has been the only means for victims’ voices to become more than a mere whisper in a global stadium.






The author wishes to point out that this story does not in any way express his personal views, as he abhors any form of violence whatsoever. The characters in the book are purely fictional and bear no resemblance to any known person living or dead.
















Copyright: Robert Kalton, 2003







Tiago Tillin was born in Wales in 1935 and has spent most of his life in teaching (which he now regrets). ‘It Could Happen’ is his second novel, the first being ‘Taboo Past.’ These books were written as an occupation against boredom in retirement. He feels great sympathy for the underprivileged and hopes that the reader will become more favourably and honestly sensitive to these people.














IT COULD HAPPEN

By


TIAGO TILLIN

Synopsis

Minister for the environment, Dan Tindale, fought his way home down the befogged A1. It was a journey surrounded in mystery but there was no way he could have foreseen what lay in wait for him at home - or more precisely, what didn't await him there. This was only the tip of a vast iceberg.

Many activist groups had started out with good intentions throughout the world but had become so disillusioned at the negligible consequences of peaceful action that they turned to terrorism to make themselves heard and to ensure that they had become a force to be reckoned with, someone had the courage to join them together under the name of the Phoenix Group which contained some of the highest trained assassins in the world. Who had masterminded such a group?

Environmental ministers or their families were being targeted from Norway to Japan, Britain to Thailand and even Zimbabwe where a very strong faction had surfaced. There was one common thread in this wave of violence: the international convention in Vienna where many sensitive topics were to be discussed with view to combat terrorism.

A casual news item in a German daily caught the attention of Greenpeace activist and Green Party leader, Martin Schnipfler on holiday in Austria. Alarm bells rang in his mind on reading a report that the parents of the Thai environment minister were missing. Reading about other similar reports from around the world caused him to make a phone call to Vietnamese veteran, Stephen Foggle.

So the race was on as the Phoenix Group of terrorists tried to neutralise the more important governmental ministers before the Vienna convention.

Efforts were being intensified to cut off the Phoenix Group's tentacles - but once one had been severed, others seemed to gain in strength.

Then the unthinkable happened as both Britain and America were thrown into chaos. As both governments were brought down.











The Book


CHAPTER 1

The aura of the befogged A1 deepened his concentration, jettisoning to the hold section of his memory the thoughts of Clare and the children who had earlier been foremost in his mind. I wonder what's for dinner to-night - whatever it is, it's sure to be cremated by the time I get home, he mused. Driving on the central white line was not the cleverest way to travel in the fog - certainly not on such a main arterial road as the A1 - it only needed one person driving in the opposite direction with the same idea and it would be goodbye world. I ought really to telephone Clare and tell her I'll be late, he considered, but then discarded the idea no sooner than it was conceived - let's plod on, he sighed as he hugged the kerb once more, keeping his speed below 20mph as his fog lights blazed into the opaqueness of the night, unable to pierce the looming blankets as they swirled and danced like flitting phantoms trying to invade the sacred sanctuary of the heated interior of his Sirocco.
Red eyes appeared without warning, like demons daring him to tread their bewitched territory, forcing him to brake yet again at the risk of inviting boot-huggers to reshape his luggage space. How many times had he come across a red tail light in the fog and stuck closely to it? He switched off the radio which had begun to lull him into a drowsy plain; then he opened the side window, sticking out his head for a breath of fresh air to jolt him back into full consciousness. Nicht hinauslehnen! He remembered the sign on German trains so well - the warning not to lean out of travelling windows; it's so easy to be decapitated or splattered on the support of an approaching bridge. The blaring of a horn forced him to swerve drastically - he checked, and in so doing, mounted the kerb, giving himself an unpleasant shock, thrusting the steering wheel into gyration so that he had to release it momentarily, involuntarily.
At length he considered taking a wee diversion to look for a place to stop overnight, but his mind was given a further jar as the car that had overtaken him suddenly swung in front and came to a stop. 'Pig's ass!' he cursed and braked as hard as his foot would allow, not giving time to look in the mirror. There was a resounding scrunch as he was hit from behind. His body whip lashed severely, almost snapping his neck. An irate driver forced his way out of his concertina-ed crate and stormed over, launching forth into an unrepeatable verbose orgasm that could have been heard in Liverpool. Dan had the presence of mind to lock his door to avoid any onslaught of physical violence that was certain to follow the verbal diarrhoea. He wasn't at all sure that the raging motorist wouldn't smash in the glass and launch himself at him through the side window. By now, thoughts of the car in front were far from being foremost in his mind; after all, it was that silly bugger who had caused the accident in the first place - he was the one who should be raging at the driver in front. He had not noticed that the offending chariot had quickly engaged gear and whizzed off into obscurity at high speed, leaving scapegoat Dan, as usual, to carry the can. He was paid to carry the can, to have other people's ulcers - the price of being an MP. 'Great!' he thought, 'now what do I do?' Just then there was a second bang, and a third, and a fourth, as other cars piled up so that Mr Irate's car behind had been well and truly squatted both ends.
Within minutes, the police arrived amidst blaring sirens and a modicum of sanity was forced upon the raging throng of motorists. The whole incident cost Dan a couple of hours and a dented boot, as if he weren't late enough as it was. A burnt meal's a burnt meal's a burnt meal he conceded. He resolved to get home to-night whatever time it may be, ignoring a warning of the looming fog whispering a 'stay away.....stay away.....' to him.
On the main road and relaxing a little now, Dan turned on the radio again, tuning in to the FM band. There was a screech of static and then he found he was eavesdropping on a conversation. 'I fixed him OK, that will give us at least another hour's edge. It will all be clear by the time......' and then it faded away. He moved along the wave band trying to seek it out again but to no avail. It came as a shock to hear, 'Dan.... Dan.... Dan Tindale.... dale..... dale....' dwindling to a whisper with a sort of wow to it. 'That's my name,' he shouted aloud at the realisation, but then, 'Na, I'm starting to imagine things; that's what becomes of listening to songs like Schubert's Earl King.' He inserted a James Last tape, but instead of the cascading strings of Romeo and Juliet, there was a whisper, a disembodied voice that grew louder and louder as though a chorus were being orchestrated and conducted to the tune of Dan....Dan....Tindale...., we're watching you.' The whole built up to a terrific crescendo, causing him to take his hands off the steering wheel and clasp them over his ears. He then returned his hands slowly to the wheel as the chorus died to the echoes of an ululating 'ale....ale....ale,' as though it had been recorded in an echo chamber. He switched off the machine and sat back shocked, afraid to stop lest he cause another pile-up.
Past Norman Cross the fog began to thin out - he looked through the side window and was relieved to find that he could see well into the fields on the right. The lights were quite bright - lights? - in a field? He turned away and then suddenly looked back in a double take as the formation of the lights registered in his mind - 'DAN TINDALE' was glaring at him in coloured lights. He pinched himself to see if he were awake or was all this a nightmare? He rubbed his eyes which had started to smart with tiredness, still in a subdued state of shock.
'Beware – Road works Ahead!' announced an advanced warning, then there were further reminders as the road narrowed with the arrival of a regiment of cones. 'Traffic Lights Ahead' announced another sign. As he expected, they were red. 'Come on, come on, I've had enough to-night,' he complained audibly. Ten minutes evaporated in an age, and still they had not changed. A youth darted around the traffic. 'Like an ev'ning paper, Mr Tindale?' asked a red-faced lad with a balaclava as he pressed his face against the side window, distorting his features. Dan opened the window - 'Thanks!' he called and passed the lad a fifty pence piece, putting the paper beside him and changed gear ready to tear off. Yet again he did a double take. "Like a paper, MR TINDALE" - Mr Tindale - how the hell did he know his name? He yelled after the lad but it was too late. The lights were still red. He looked in the mirror and then to each side - there were no cars. There was a huge tailback only moments ago. He turned to the front again to find the lights flicking from amber to red. 'Damn!' Within seconds there was a barrage of blaring horns as traffic materialised from nowhere. Another delay, but this time he was going to fix his gaze on the lights and nothing but nothing would distract him, so he wouldn't miss them changing a second time. After a half hour's wait he made his getaway.
It was a little after ten thirty when he finally pulled into the drive of his detached neo-Georgian house. No lights left on. Can't blame her really, he thought, Clare must have gone to bed fed up with waiting. He turned the key in the lock, exhausted from his traumatic drive, stepped into the hall and slammed the door behind him. It resounded around the whole house. Sh! he told himself, you'll wake them up, then he realised that it was much more resonant than usual. He fumbled for the light switch - strange, the lights didn't work. Dan did not smoke so there was no lighter to hand to help him. Feeling for the mains behind the door, he found it and discovered that it was in the off position. Stranger and stranger; his heart began to pound. He remedied the situation with a quick flick of the lever. Why on earth would they be off? He turned on the light which obeyed his touch but he just could not believe what he saw, or rather what he didn't see. The place was completely bare - no furniture. He dashed into the lounge, turned on the light - nothing, no furniture - nothing! He called upstairs, but Clare's name echoed back at him - then, 'Tym, Kim!' he called his children, but there was no reply, just the haunting reverberation of his own voice. He rushed upstairs - bare - no furniture, no note, nothing! Panic seized him but then rationalisation took hold of him as he controlled himself and remembered that he was still a healthy thirty-five-year-old, otherwise he would have suffered a cardiac arrest - as it was, his heart was beating a tattoo on his chest.
He rushed to his study where one wall was usually lined from floor to ceiling with books. He automatically reached out to his desk for the phone - but there was no phone, no desk, no books - nothing. 'Damn, damn, damn!' He staggered to the stairs and collapsed on the bottom one, withdrew the paper that he had stuffed in his pocket. No wonder the paper lad had known his name - there, staring him right in the face was a picture of himself under the caption, 'Wanted for Questioning! He made an attempt to read the article but it was shaking so much that he had to place it on the stairs to control it whilst he pored over it. There was another picture alongside his - that of a middle-aged Oriental businessman but neither the face nor the name was familiar. One thing was for certain - it was far too dangerous to be hanging around his house. Why should he be wanted for questioning and why was there a picture of this businessman - surely there is no connection, he had never seen the man before in his life – at least that was what he believed at the time. His thinking was becoming irrational in his abject state of shock. Maybe his neighbours had heard or seen something. This is an emergency and assured himself there was just reason for knocking them up so late. His diary at the Commons, he remembered, showed that he had an appointment with an Oriental gentleman - maybe it's the same one, he considered.
There were still lights on all around his neighbours' house - at least someone must be up, he thought – there are too many lights for there to be burglar deterrents. Why should he be thinking of burglars? Garee was still up so at least there would be someone to share his problems. That made him feel much more at ease already.
'Good heavens!' Garee gasped as he saw his friend propping up his door jamb. 'You look as though you've seen a ghost,' not realising how close to the truth he had come. Dan would normally have had a hysterical outburst at the irony of the situation had it not been so serious. He couldn't even force a smile. 'You'd better come in and have a stiff drink,' Garee went on. 'Flo!' he called upstairs, 'It's Dan, come down please, it’s urgent.' A slim middle-aged blonde appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a black and gold silk dressing gown; she was rather embarrassed at appearing with curlers in her hair.
'What's the matter, dear?' Then she noticed her ashen neighbour in the hall. 'Good God, Dan, you look awful, what's the matter?'
By the time Dan had relayed the events of the evening to his long-standing friends, it was nigh on midnight, but he had begun to relax after a few Whisky Macs. 'I think you'd better stay here the night,' Flo suggested, 'and then Garee can help you sort out things in the morning. She then proceeded upstairs to the spare room to make up the bed and tidy up a few things. It's better to sleep on it if you can; it's no use worrying about things you cannot do anything about to-night.'
'That's very kind of you, Flo, but I must move the car - just in case the police come around looking for me - I don't appear to be au fait with them at the present, the problem is that I don’t know why.'
If I stand a chance of finding Clare, he thought, I need to take a closer look at the house now I'm thinking a little more rationally. There may just be something that could give me a clue as to what on earth is going on. It hadn’t dawned on him at the time that if he were wanted, there should be at least one policeman keeping an eye on the house. If he could just find one, he might stand a chance of knowing what had happened to his family. Clare would never have gone without leaving a note, so she must have been taken against her will. As he turned the key in the lock, his heart began to pound as pictures loomed in his mind like an action replay going over and over the events of the evening in slow motion, testing his emotions, but the wind was taken out of his sails as he turned on the light - perhaps he had missed it earlier when he was in a state of panic, but there in front of him was a warning on the fitted mirror in the hall written in lipstick. 'TINDALE...MURDERER - WE'LL GET YOU'. The silence of the house imploded within him, even the breeze that had whistled up was not audible. Then something in the distance alerted him, a sort of tap, tap. He traced the sound to the kitchen - that's how they came in, obviously, he muttered to himself as he heard the gentle tapping of the open window. Perhaps there are some threads caught on the ledge - anything at all to give me a lead. He strode into the room without hesitation but he stopped dead in his tracks. Bile rose up to his throat as he beheld the horrific sight that confronted him. There, suspended from the ceiling, hanging over the sink was a body. It wasn't that he was just shocked at seeing a dead body; that was frightening enough on its own, but the way in which it was hanging with ugly protrusions. It had been trussed up like a turkey with hands tied around the knees, then hung upside down so that blood was dripping into the sink through the long strands of black hair. 'My God, Clare!' he shrieked as he put his hand to his mouth to hold back his retching. There was some sort of knife protruding from the throat and a broom handle was dangling out of the cadaver's anus. From the small amount of the handle showing, it was obvious that it had been rammed in hard before the victim's throat had been stabbed. He turned away quickly, not able to look the body in the face - he had to get out of the room so he returned once more to the stairs, the only thing left in the house that could give him any support. He sobbed aloud and wondered what they, whoever they were, had done with his children. Reasonably composed, he was ready to confront the body again considering it very strange he not noticed it when he first entered the house but when he returned to the kitchen he noticed something dangling that hadn't caught his eye before - genitals! The last time he saw his wife naked was only a few nights ago and she didn't have those, he thought, and turned to face the body. At least it wasn't Clare, thank God. It was the Oriental in the newspaper. His Clare was a Filipino only three years younger than himself but he couldn't guess what nationality this man was. All Orientals, bar Filipinos of course, looked the same to him. From the method of killing it looked as though it had been perpetrated by fellow Orientals.
Dan toyed with the idea of fetching Garee but decided against it because there would be nothing he could do, so he started searching around for clues before hiding his car in his neighbours' garage. He could find nothing tangible at all. Even if there were fingerprints it would be of no use because he dare not call in the police at this stage, not that he had anything to hide - other than the fact he would be suspected of the murder - his credibility was otherwise high being a whizz-kid in the Government, but not for long if the police found him. If there was one chance in a million that his family had gone of their own volition, there would be more than a little embarrassment because he was shortly due to represent his country at the world congress on children and the family - that is after the Vienna congress convened to outlaw the world-wide killing of whales and elephants which had become a major issue throughout the globe and to set up a global task force to combat the production and distribution of drugs..
Tindale was young to hold such a responsible position in government. It was becoming more abundantly clear that he was being groomed to step into the shoes of the Prime Minister when the time came for a change of leadership, though the popularity of the ruling party was fast dwindling. En route he hoped to land one of the major jobs, possibly Home or Foreign Secretary if not Chancellor.
Not of the public school ilk, he was dragged through the state system at a time when there had been a rape of the education system. The idea of huge comprehensive schools looked good on paper, but no way could they be an improvement on a system that had proved successful for so many decades. Change for change's sake, making people equal who couldn't be made equal – fine on paper but no way could it be practical. He then won a scholarship to Oxford - mainly thanks to the fact that his particular comprehensive school was originally a grammar school and the nucleus of staff and the system had been retained - then he graduated in Sociology with an honours degree. His adversaries denigrated his marriage to a Filipino, popular though she was with the majority of the electorate. She had even modified her name to assist her husband's career. Tindale hadn't considered himself a likely target for the IRA and so had only given the subject a fleeting thought after the Brighton bombing.
There appeared to be just one lead - the Oriental in the kitchen - his picture was in the newspaper - so was his own. A few discreet phone-calls may furnish him with enough information to get his foot in the door, but for to-night, he had had enough and so he retired to bed next door.
Sleep didn't come easily as events flitted through his mind, but then he had difficulty in recalling his journey home. He remembered that it had been foggy and he could visualise the face of the paper-lad with his face pressed against the car window. He then worried that Clare and the children had been kidnapped and perhaps lay imprisoned in a rat-infested cellar with no light, trussed up and maybe bunged in a cupboard with little air - then he felt his hackles rise as the thought occurred to him - two places he didn't think to check - the cellar and the cupboard under the stairs - but why had they taken the furniture?

Up at dawn, Dan stealthily tiptoed downstairs, donned an anorak and silently slipped out of the house for a last look to see if daylight would reveal anything he may have missed the previous night and to check on the cellar and the cupboard under the stairs. Imagine the shock as he entered the kitchen to find that there was no trace of the body. Had it been a figment of his imagination? He opened the outside door leading from the kitchen, deciding to inspect the ground in that area. It didn't need any close scrutiny to discover the half empty book of matches below the kitchen window. They must have missed seeing them in the dark he thought - or could they have been left deliberately. Whichever way it was a lead; inside was written, 'Haan Restaurant, Markt Plein, Bruges.' Pocketing these, he returned next door, committing the name and address of the restaurant to memory, only to find that Garee and Flo were both up and about. 'Just been to have a final check,' he mentioned casually.
'Any luck?' Flo asked.
'The house is completely empty,' he replied, taking care to give nothing away or mention the body that he thought he saw the night before. Thought? It was too darned real.
They chatted about trivia over a continental breakfast, the cappuccino restoring a little steel into Dan's befuddled mind. When he was fully alert
he duly thanked them for their hospitality and informed them he would begin his investigation as soon as he had bought himself a few essentials because he possessed absolutely nothing. 'Good God! That's something I haven't thought about. Do you think Clare would have taken all the money out of our joint account?'
'That very much depends whether she decided to leave you or whether anything more sinister has happened,' Garee surmised. 'You're not going anywhere on your own, you are still in a state of shock and you very much need help at this moment. If there is no money, I shall be at hand to remedy the situation - no problem, what are friends for?' He stood up and made to pack a few overnight things. 'I can let you have some clothes and I have a spare of most toiletries - you'll just need to buy a toothbrush. Anyway, where are we going to start?'
'A few discreet enquiries in the city - there are a couple of colleagues I can trust - they won't blow the whistle on me. There's no need for you to come, really. I'll be all right.'
'Your face is too well known, you just can't go around London openly, someone will be bound to spot you - more than likely the Plod Squad.'
Reluctantly Dan agreed to let him come along - at least two people would halve the work and they could help each other out if there was any bother - but he didn't want even his closest friend to know about the book of matches or the body. With the two working separately he would have a chance to give credibility for his trip to Belgium.
First Dan checked with the bank - his wife had made no withdrawals. Now he decided to withdraw a substantial amount of cash himself.
The chores of other enquiries were split between them. On returning to the car, Dan decided to let his friend in on the book of matches and both agreed that a visit to the continent was necessary. It was their only lead. It mattered not whether the matches were left there intentionally or not.
At Ramsgate they boarded the hovercraft, which was delayed because of mid channel fog. By three o'clock they were travelling through the Belgian countryside en route for Bruges.
Steeped in history and embalmed in charm and beauty, Bruges boasts some of the country's finest architecture. It is indeed Belgium's shop window for its famous lace.
The two men booked into a local pension. Dan told the patron that they would park their car nearby, hopefully free from any parking penalties, and then return with their luggage. Foolishly ignorant of the maze-like one-way traffic system, they failed to locate the wretched guest house again. Feeling thoroughly embarrassed, dejected and defeated after an hour's searching, they gave up searching for the pension and parked the car in a permitted space near the city centre.
'You go and see if you can locate the guest-house on foot then get yourself a quick snack, I'll meet you back at the car in two hours' time.'
The Markt Plein is dominated by a thirteenth century belfry - built when the town was at its richest and most extravagant - a symbol of civic pride and municipal independence. Its carillon, added in the eighteenth century, launches forth into hymn tunes every quarter hour from nine thirty in the morning to five at night, save a break at midday. The belfry's distinctive octagonal lantern top can be seen for miles across the surrounding polders.
In need of a little refreshment himself, Dan ventured into one of the string of restaurants that line two adjacent sides of the square. Assured that the Haan Restaurant was one of those, he searched around until he found it. Making a note of its location he decided to patronise the one next door so that he could keep an eye on those coming to and going from the Haan, from a seat under the awning.
Not trusting the natives entirely, he took his newly acquired hold-all with him and ordered a cappuccino and a waffle with Chantilly at the risk of encouraging his already swelly belly to add a few more inches to his inflated prominent paunch. Dan was reasonably fluent in French and prided himself with a fair accent - he was astonished after ordering une gauffre, to find he was served with a knickerbockers glory. An argument ensued and Dan felt he was on the losing side of the verbal volley. The waitress stormed off amidst a string of abuse delivered faster than a Pete Sampras serve, only to return with a circular tray with a banana milk shake. Fed up with trying to make himself understood in perfectly good French and certain that the Belgians haven't a clue how to speak it properly, he resigned himself to accepting the shake which he removed from the tray. That detonated another verbal onslaught. 'That is not for you,' she had now resorted to English, but it was too late, he had already attacked the liquidised banana for which he was given a straw - no way could he draw the thick mulch through such a small aperture.
Adequately satisfied with the meal in a glass he duly paid his bill and set out to explore the delights of the city - only too glad to be out of the restaurant, hopefully never to return. He took one of the many cobbled streets that led off the square. A disturbance turned his attention to the direction of the cafe he had just left. A man with a dome-like head set on square shoulders and no neck, rather like a traffic bollard was gesticulating frantically and appeared to be arguing vehemently with a man in a homburg hat - both looking in Dan's general direction and pointing. Surely they couldn't have been onto him already - he wasn't followed, that was for certain - or was it? - he wasn't a trained agent so he could have been tailed all the way from England. Then perhaps the matches had been dropped intentionally to lure him away - but why? - in which case he would have been expected.
With the arrival of the supermarket, the British sweetshop has virtually ceased to exist. Every newsagent and supermarket strategically arranged a cross-section of confectionary to tempt toddlers to grab a handful and surreptitiously secrete their haul under some of the goods in the trolley. In Belgium, sweet-shop displays look more like carnival floats with each chocolate and sweet painstakingly positioned in a mouth-watering tableau with oodles of praline fruits de mer. Dan could not resist entering one such establishment to purchase a half kilo which the shopkeeper proudly boxed, gift-wrapped and tied with a ribbon rosette - there was no need to go to so much trouble because the chocolates would not be in the box long enough to warrant such secure parcelling, he certainly had no intention of buying them for anyone else. Second thoughts, he ought to give a box to Garee and Flo for their kindness, so he purchased a second kilo. It was a luxury he considered he could afford himself amidst his woes - little comfort really.
Panic welled within him as he suddenly caught sight of Homburg with his back towards him, speaking abruptly to some stranger who shrugged in ignorance. Throwing discretion to the mild breeze he crossed the street and sought the haven of an ancient curiosity shop packed with paraphernalia of every description. Luck was temporarily with him as a voice said. 'You wish trip, yes? Last place, please to come this way,' at which he was hastily ushered to a back room before he had chance to reply, was relieved of forty francs and whisked down a flight of steps onto an awaiting motorised punt.
The guide, obviously a university student, seemed pleased to give vent to his linguistic prowess as he detailed all the historic buildings in five languages whilst they chugged by. A round trip! The thought suddenly strangled him - they would know that - would be waiting for him. Fear suddenly gripped him, for on approaching a low bridge, he could see Bollard directing a hail of abuse at him - perhaps he'll leap onto the punt as it approaches the bridge, he thought. At this juncture the punt slowed as the guide asked them all to turn around, there was the most famous sight in the city. He assured all the passengers there would be ample time to take photos to capture the picturesque view after the boat had manoeuvred itself alongside the grass verge, which was bespeckled with an assortment of ducks all preening themselves conceitedly.
This was the chance he needed. As a child he had been taught that opportunities will always arise and that he must recognise them and act upon them. Before the first click of the camera, Dan was off the boat, running, fearing that at any moment a figure would lurch out in front of him - and then - total oblivion! Avoid passages he heard himself say, no escape - tower ahead - church - sanctuary - hope!
Within moments he was easing open the west door of the cathedral to be greeted with celestial sounds as he fumbled his way to an empty seat at the back. The place was packed - a concert was in progress. Relax, he instructed himself - thumb and forefingers - depress eyeballs and hyperventilate - slows heartbeat, reduces flow of adrenalin. The musical notes formed themselves into recognisable sounds of Schubert's Alle Seelen which pervaded the place. It was being rendered by a young boy whose timbre of voice made Aled Jones in his hey day sound like an alley cat. It was as though the singer's soul reached out and personally plucked at his heartstrings - he had been translated into an ethereal world.
Barely had the strains of the final cadence melted away than he was jerked back into reality by a creaking sound - there, framed in the doorway of the south porch stood Bollard - que faire? He slid out of his seat hoping he had not been spotted, and then he retraced his tracks through the porch brushing into someone on their way in. 'Pardon, monsieur,...' he checked himself and fled as he realised it was Homburg. Like the fleeing sexton who was drawn back to the coffin he had nailed himself to, leaden legs hampered his haste. He stumbled over a loose cobble - twisted ankle - damn - that's all I need, he cursed aloud.
Nearby some children were playing with a ball in a side street. Safety in numbers! Relating a pathetic tale to the innocent bystanders, he persuaded them to accompany him back to the Markt Plein, pretending he didn't know where he was. At least he was in a crowd - safety in public places - so he selected a suitable cafe that advertised Duvel, Belgium's extra-strong lager. He had promised the children one each as a reward for their kindness, remembering that youngsters of their age were permitted to drink beer in that country.
They sat themselves down at a convenient table. Whilst awaiting refreshment, which he had once again ordered in French to impress the children, Dan amused the youngsters with a few anecdotes which he exchanged for a little information. He produced a photo of Clare and the children he always kept in his wallet, and asked if they had seen any of those in the photo.
'Oh yes,' said a little girl, 'she found our ball for us - a really nice lady.'
'Where?' Dan asked urgently, 'When?'
'Perhaps ten minutes before you came along - right where you saw us,' another replied. About to charge out of the cafe, Dan suddenly changed his mind as both Homburg and Bollard had joined forces in a last concerted show of strength, bursting through the cafe door. Trapped! No weapon - no escape. He sank low in his seat resigned to accepting whatever lay in store for him.
'Ah there you are, monsieur.' It was a breathless Bollard who took the initiative. 'You 'ave led us on a 'ow do you say, wild duck 'unt,' in his best English.
'Goose chase,' prompted the other, which seemed to relax the tension.
'Ah yes monsieur, you left this at the Restaurant Canard.' At this he produced Dan's hold-all. A smile of relief gradually grew on his face and he invited the two foot-worn gentlemen to join them in a drink - a Duvel, naturellement!
Turning to the little girl who recognised Clare, he asked whether his wife was on her own or with children.
'Oh yes, definitely on her own.'
'Are you quite sure?
'Yes.'
'No other man?'
'No, I don’t think so.'
That was that then. She seemed able to move freely - at least for the time being - which meant that they were holding the children - but what do they want from me he asked himself. He was soon to find out.
Garee had no success in locating the pension but he had managed to book into another, taking very careful note of the the name of the street and the proximity of notable features, and where it was in relation to their parked car so there would not be a repetition of their earlier embarrassment.
After settling themselves into their new pension, they decided to return to the main square and stroll around, each taking opposite directions, until it was time to eat.
The sound of Haan Restaurant belied the class of such a place offering high quality culinary delights, many of which were swimming around a tank in the centre of the room. Both men decided to cheer themselves up by ordering a really first rate meal - the shock came afterwards.
At the end of the meal, a waiter, not the one who had served them, presented the bill on a silver salver as was custom. Garee took the plate and placed it on the table. Dan snatched the bill before Garee had the chance to pay. Picking up the bill, Dan stared at it in disbelief - not the cost of the meal, there was no bill, only a note. 'Our compliments - the meal is on us - PTO. You will not interfere in other countries' matters - they don't concern you. We hold your family - if you want them back you will not attend the convention in Vienna. If you now look out of the window you will see we mean business.'
Dan rushed to the picture window at the front of the restaurant. Outside, a car was parked - Dan couldn't see anything unusual - that was until his attention was averted as the waiter who had presented the bill took to the driving seat - he could make out two people in the rear seat. 'Good heavens!' he exclaimed as he rushed out of the door to the car which suddenly accelerated and sped off - the two faces at the rear window were mouthing something - 'Help us daddy - PLEASE!'
Dan returned to the restaurant, gently pushing back Garee who had started after him, and sank back into his seat. His friend promptly ordered two double whiskies.
'So now we know what it's all about,' handing Garee the note he was still clutching. 'It's not money - thankfully Clare and the children haven't left me - that is, not of their own volition - what am I saying? I just implied I prefer them to have been kidnapped!'
'Don't worry, I know what you mean - at least you know they're safe for the time being. You've just seen the children and you know that Clare was seen earlier.'
'I just can't believe any of this is real. It's another fortnight till the congress.' His mind wandered. 'Greed - pure selfishness, all this killing - thousands of elephants and whales slaughtered for man's greed. Child labour and drugs have to be stopped and this is one chance to do something about it.'
'You must try to think rationally, Dan. You have to consider the lives of your family against the lives of animals. It's as simple as that, as far as I can see.'
'We have to do something, we can't just let people snatch my family and get away with it, nor let people get away with such atrocities around the world, but where do we start?'
'There's little we can do tonight - let's go back to the guest house and list everything that has happened - we can then have a good night's sleep, study the notes and draw conclusions in the morning. What is the point of worrying about things we cannot control? At least writing things down clears the mind and body and enables them to function normally.'



CHAPTER 2

The strain of the past week belied the seemingly youthfulness of Ayakin Hokomo, Japan's foreign minister. The majority of his countrymen wished the hunting and slaughtering of whales to continue but then there was a sudden greenness beginning to eat at people's consciences, and so all the assemblies he addressed were well interspersed with hecklers, making his speeches hard work despite the modern technology of amplification. He had all too frequently seen the consequences of drug abuse.
Hokomo considered a wife an unnecessary hindrance to his total devotion to his work, his charisma and dedication making him a celebrity in the tradition of David Bellamy but bordering more on the comic eccentricity of Ian McCaskill the well-loved British weatherman, or is he really a comedian? Even
Hokomo’s adversaries could not dislike him as a person, only the issues he stood for. So in order to meet his bodily needs and relax, he attended a massage parlour - not any old place but one that revered him as an emperor, only serving a very elite clientele. Unlike a wife who would grow old with him and lose her sexual excitement, he could renew his partner at any time without any twinge of conscience. However, for the past three months he had been served by Tomiko who still taught him something new and exciting each week he visited her. This night he was to be disappointed as he was told she was away sick and so he was offered someone special in her place. He had to admit that on the face of it, she didn't look at all a bad substitute for the odd occasion - looking just as ravishing as Tomiko. His usual routine began by taking a steam bath laced with sensual oils that stimulated the mind and relaxed the body ready for the wonderful hour that followed.
Tikito, Tomiko's stand-in was very much like her in as much as she was only five foot two, slim and dainty with a youthful figure. Her face was a little rounder than Tomiko's, but the main contrast was in the eyes that seemed to ring a warning signal deep inside Hokomo as they penetrated his stare yet did not smile with the rest of her face. He was foolish not to heed the warning.
Before the massage and anointing of oils, Hokomo was led into the steam bath where he usually wallowed for a half hour or so. This time it seemed unduly hot and the steam was so intense he could see nothing beyond his own hand. The only sound was the click of the door as someone came in - Hokomo relaxed again. He could barely last ten minutes in this heat so he made to leave but the door was locked. The click had not been of someone entering and closing the door but of someone intentionally shutting him in, he thought. Starting to panic he hammered on the door - no-one responded to his banging, then a disembodied voice arose out of the steam, 'Stay exactly where you are Hokomo san. You can't see me but I can see you in the sight of the gun I am pointing at you.' Hokomo felt like screaming - so someone had come in - no way could he overpower someone he couldn't see - not with a gun aimed at him anyway. 'What I have to say is to be taken seriously and to prove this I suggest you buy an English newspaper where you will find an account of your brother's unfortunate accident. If you do not wish to meet with a similar accident, then you will not attend the Vienna convention. Think of the thousands of people who will be out of work if anything goes ahead as expected in Vienna. To pass such a motion will deprive hundreds of our people a living. Should you not heed this warning you will join your brother.'
Hokomo felt more naked than he actually was, unable to form any words, feeling more terror than he had ever known. There was another click of the door as the visitor let himself out.
Hokomo charged out after him, towel in hand, but despite his running the length of the narrow corridor, no-one was in sight until occupants of the rooms lining the corridor poked their faces out of their doors to see what had caused the stampede. Hokomo looked down at his nakedness, wrapped the towel around him and entered the room where Tikito was waiting. He removed his towel and lay on the couch as the young girl poured oils over him, pummelling his reasonably athletic looking body whilst he made a mental note that the oils she was using were so very different from the ones he was used to. She placed a cask under his nose as he lay on his stomach enjoying the sensation of the treatment, but he was soon losing his senses as his conscience declined into a hypnotic state. He did not even feel the blade of the scalpel that pierced the skin of his buttocks, which was then drawn across both cheeks, leaving a deep red trail of blood. The incision and carving were deftly executed. The Japanese was asked to turn over and lie on his back whilst a moist towel was put over his face. He continued in a semi-state of oblivion whilst skilful fingers picked up his limp member and carved four tramlines the full length of his manhood. Blood oozed from the wounds on both sides of his body now as the towel was removed, only to be replaced by sensual lips and an exploring tongue. As the effects of the hypnotic oils wore off he began to stir as experienced hands cupped his supple sac. As the swelling continued he felt a surge of excruciating pain that engulfed him, making him scream out. A thin rope was wound around his neck, crossed and then tightened more and more as the voice hovering over him reinforced the intruder's words. 'You have been warned.' With that she left, of no further use to him, neither would anyone else be for some weeks to come. Hokomo sat up and stared at the member which was deflating rapidly and then he sensed a further smarting which seemed to stem from underneath him. He forced himself to his feet, half turned and stared into the mirror whereupon he fell to the ground in a faint as he beheld the inverted etching of 'shi' - the sign of death.

Pieter Ngabe Foreskin (pronounced For-es-kin), had physically vomited after his helicopter had hovered over the holocaust - he stopped counting after two hundred and fifty carcasses, many of the elephants, including their young had been hacked unmercifully - first their tusks then their meat. The poachers would net a few million dollars. Foreskin had been drawn to the clearing by the encircling vultures, which swooped down to hack at the remains but he was too late to save this herd. He had gathered and armed teams of indigents to try to combat the mass slaughter that the country was suffering but like everything else, a shortage of money had left just a few devotees who were prepared to work for a mere pittance yet prepared to face death to save the dwindling animals. Others had been frightened or bought off and in some cases they had been infiltrated and so the poachers had been given advanced warning of their movements. Zimbabwe had enough internal problems of its own without having to fight off foreigners.
Pieter Foreskin, Zimbabwe’s minister for the environment, lived in a far from affluent ranch house on twelve hundred acres of farm and scrubland, twenty miles south of west Pamuzinda. He couldn't wait to be back home with his family - his wife Penny was English and had studied medicine at Oxford where Pieter was engaged with political studies. Their children were of a rather unusual caste; Sara, now fifteen was rather like an over-tanned European whereas Mark at thirteen was coffee coloured and boasted an athletic body. The strange thing was that Sara had closely cropped black curly hair but Mark’s was long straight and dark brown. Both children were particularly handsome and blessed with an exceptionally brilliant brain. Pieter always modestly attributed their brains and looks to their mother who in turn insisted that their favourable facets had been inherited from their father. They were a very happy family who lived closely together and to nature, which they had come to love dearly. Only the previous evening Penny and Pieter sat at the foot of a kopje, arms around each other watching the sunset, listening to the choir of weaver birds chanting in the warm breeze amidst the chattering of baboons. The luminescent clouds were etched in golds and reds as the sun's rays cast laser beam outlines around them.
'Life is so wonderful when I see nature in its natural form - if only man hadn't ruined so much beauty with ugly buildings and greed.'
'Especially greed,' Penny added. 'If only life could always be as carefree as this.'
'Life is full of "if only"s, but now not even the animals can live without threat of extinction hovering over them and the poor things can't plead with us to look after them.'
As the chopper bringing Pieter home came to rest at the front of the house, whisking up clouds, Foreskin ducked and ran towards the building, stopping to wave away the pilot. It was then that his sixth sense warned him that something was very wrong; he didn't know how he knew or what had triggered off the warning. 'Penny!' he called as he opened the door which had only been painted the previous day. There was no reply - usually she came out to greet him when she heard the helicopter or the Land Rover. 'Penny!' he yelled again, 'Sara, Mark, I'm home!' Still there was an uncanny silence in the house. He ran through the house and out of the back door, repeatedly calling their names.
'I'm afraid they are not in a position to answer at the moment.' It was spoken in an accent Foreskin could not place but he knew that it emanated from a black man. He turned around to see three men, all black, but none he had seen before - they were certainly not any of his hired hands. They were some of the biggest fellows he had ever seen - and ugly too.
'Mr Foreskin,' he paused for effect, watching the fear gradually pervade his face, 'We have come to help you prepare your speech for Vienna.' Pieter wanted to say that he was quite capable of doing it on his own thanks very much but he didn't altogether consider it wise on seeing the meanness in their faces; he didn't think they would appreciate a remark like that so he just remained silent.
'Relax, my friend,' said the one in the middle - such terms of endearment in films always indicate hostility, he thought and wondered what was coming next - he could only expect the worst as the family were not around. This man was the biggest of the three and appeared to be the spokesman whilst the others just listened with a smug smirk on their faces. He was in command.
'We would like you to come into your living room where we have set the stage for some entertainment.' Pieter tried to contain the fear that had enshrouded him as his sweat glands became more active and exuded a mixture of deodorant and sweat. The spokesman led the way, the other two taking the rear to ensure that the environment minister didn't make a dash for a hidden weapon.
'Please be seated, Mr Foreskin,' he feigned politeness. The other two left the room and shortly returned with Penny and the children who were gagged and their wrists tied. 'Your family are the stars of the performance,' he said sarcastically as he ushered them to their seats. 'We have to be sure that you say all the right things in Vienna - there is so much at stake.' Not one of the family had any idea what was going to happen - even if they cared to hazard a guess, they would have never come up with the horrific scenario that was about to unfold.
'You! Up!' commanded one of the two who had not previously spoken, as he stood in front of Mark. Weak-kneed the boy obeyed. 'Undress!' Mark looked at his parents for a sign of permission to go ahead but they were dumbfounded. They were now raging and their minds were conjuring up the worst.
A long refectory table had been placed in the centre of the room. The two hulks bodily lifted the boy and laid him on the table so that the three pillows stacked one on top of the other, were in the centre of his back. The two men pinned the boy's arms and legs. 'Such a charming boy,' the leader commented, 'just ripe for the operation.' Fortunately Mark hadn't a clue what they were talking about but Penny screamed in horror as she guessed at what was about to happen. The huge man regarded the boy's genitals set amidst a finery of shrubbery and took hold of the semi-developed appendage in his fingers and carefully stroked it. 'I'm going to perform an operation - it's quite common at the onset of manhood in many tribes.'
Foreskin made to get up - 'I shouldn't if I were you,' the man warned, 'the boy's in my hands,' so Pieter sat down again.
'You pig's dung!' the boy's father shouted. The spokesman bent over the boy's protrusion as though to engulf it with his mouth when suddenly he gave an animal-like roar as lifting the boy’s foreskin in his teeth he bit it off and spat it on the floor. 'He'll have to change his name now,' the man jeered at his parents. He then went over to the mantelpiece as the boy was left screaming and sobbing, took hold of a bottle and poured the brown contents on the wound. Iodine. The screams the boy uttered were ear-splitting and heart-rending as the parents were made to witness the trauma in silence.
Whilst the heavies turned the boy over so that his stomach was on the pillow, the spokesman undid his trousers and bared himself, revealing manhood the likeness of a bull. Penny turned away, knowing what was about to happen and Pieter tried comforting her in order to avert his gaze. 'To show that I am a compassionate man, I shall prepare the way with my fingers and a little lubrication,' he said as he produced a small tube from his pocket. First he tried one finger, then two, then three, attempting to make way to accommodate the assault. 'You are lucky I'm so worked up,' he smirked, 'because it won't take long.'
'If the other two put their oars in, they'll kill him,' Penny managed to get out amidst ululation.
'They are not to be taken lightly - these men are ruthless,' her husband whispered in her ear.
The spokesman withdrew within the minute, mopping up the mess with a wad of cotton wool. 'You may sit down now - if you can!' he added, taking it to be a huge joke. 'It's your turn next, young lady,' he said to Sara who stared in disbelief. She was not asked to undress as in the case of her brother but was bodily lifted onto the table and the clothes ripped off her by the spokesman who had dressed himself by now. He was frighteningly strong. 'We are not so mean as to deprive the young lady of her virginity,' he assimilated pity. The other two brutes were busy fondling her, licking her nipples and rubbing their own private parts.
The spokesman made her lie on her stomach whilst the other two undid their trousers revealing equally massive and menacingly ugly members. The girl buried her face as she caught a glance of the threat, her little heart pounding within her. The huge man held her firm whilst the two henchmen entered her in turn. The pain was insufferable as she felt herself splitting internally.
Meanwhile Mark, dancing around the floor naked, surreptitiously took hold of a knife that was lying behind a bowl of fruit on the sideboard and whilst the second of the thugs was busy with his sister, the other two looking on lecherously, spittle drooling from their mouths, he lunged into the ribs of the man who had tortured him. His thrust was so strong and the ribs of the man so solid that the blade snapped as it hit the bone. The other two were unaware of the assault and couldn't understand why their leader suddenly gasped but he was so strong it made little impression, feeling more like a pin prick. He looked down to his side and withdrew the protruding blade. By now Mark was out of the house running for his life, still naked, towards the estate manager's house.
'This, my friends, is a mere spit in the ocean compared with what will happen if you do not read in Vienna what we have written. I shall now also have to avenge the boy's folly.' The other two left to take hold of a couple of cans of paraffin and were sprinkling it about. One of the thugs struck a match and set the place alight as he left hastily through the back door.
'You will remember tonight when you are in Vienna, my friend, believe me, you will remember. I bid you farewell, said the spokesman on his way out as he handed over their prepared speech.
Still naked, Mark knocked on Tom's door. 'Good heavens, Mark, what's happened?' the old man asked. There was no time to go into detail - with the little breath that he had he gave a brief outline of what had happened and asked the farm manager to come quickly. The old man grabbed a rifle and tore out of the house as fast as his legs would take him.
The three terrorists were running through the scrub towards their pickup when Tom caught a glance of them, had one of them in his sight and fired just as the other two disappeared from view. 'Damn, too late!' he cursed as Mark struggled to keep up with Tom. Shortly they came across the thug Tom had winged - in fact, much more than winged, he had put a bullet clean through his head. Just then he heard a vehicle start up and ran towards the sound as he reloaded. He fired in the general direction of the sound but he couldn't see and would never know that he had hit the vehicle, the bullet passing through the rear window and lodging itself in the neck of the other henchman who was in the passenger seat.
Smoke was soaring from the Foreskins’ residence which urged Tom and Mark to hasten back to the building where they found the Foreskins trying desperately to douse the flames but they had taken too much of a hold, fanned by the evening breeze. 'It's no use, we can't stem the blaze,' Pieter shouted over the roar of the flames. 'Just grab what you can and get out before it collapses.' Tom darted in and grabbed anything of reasonable value that came to hand but Mark was still suffering too much pain to brave the heat of what was rapidly becoming an inferno.
Penny had rescued her doctor's bag and by the time they had arrived at Tom's place, she tended her son's injuries. Tom and his wife just couldn't do enough to help the family but kept on reproaching themselves for not being to hand earlier - they had not heard anything. Now they insisted that the Foreskins move into their little place whilst they in turn would evacuate and occupy the hired hand's abode that was vacant, so that the Foreskins could have the complete run of their home.
The police were called who duly took away the thug's body but they were not told the reason for the terrorists' attack on the family and home. Fortunately their Land Rover was unharmed, but that was little consolation for the rape of the people and property. At least they had been partly avenged by Tom's quick action, but it didn't in any way repair the damage - it would be quite some time before Mark and Sara recovered both physically but more especially from the mental scars that would last much, much longer, if not for ever.

Of all the world's monarchs, few could equal the popularity of King Bhumibol of Thailand - a people's king, sharing with Prince Charles of Great Britain, concern for the environment. To his people he is sometimes called 'the farmer king' but to most, 'the good and great king'. He is an engineer, an agriculturist, cartographer, photographer, artist, musician and sportsman - both a hard-working man and a great thinker. Most of his talents have been directed to his people rather than towards his own personal pleasure or gain. Many of his paintings have been exhibited in both Thailand and America. As a photographer, his pictures are on a par with the finest of professionals. His favourite subject, not surprisingly, is his wife, the most beautiful Queen Sirikit.
King Bhumibol has an inborn instinct for natural science as to how things should be done to produce the best results. He works closely with his people over projects he initiated himself - small dams, contour planning, dripping irrigation systems, water conservation and many other schemes to provide water for everyone. Although a king with endless funds to hand, he always employs the simplest and most economical methods, for much of the country is situated in either a drought or flood zone.
As a musician, the king is an exponent of the saxophone family, and also plays the clarinet and trumpet, but following a serious illness his doctors advised him to stop playing wind instruments so he turned his hand to classical guitar and composition. For many years he had his own or sor band consisting of both professionals and amateurs.
As a sportsman he enjoyed skiing, swimming, badminton, ice-skating and sailing, giving his Royal Patronage to many sporting activities. In the year of his sixtieth birthday, he was awarded the Insignia of the Olympic Order, by the International Olympic Committee - 'for all the contributions made in the promotion, development and advancement of sports in the kingdom, region and continent.'
The second award was bestowed by his people - 'Sumdej Phra Bhumibol Adulyadej Maharaj' - King Bhumibol Adulyadej the Great - only the third monarch in the Chakri Dynasty to be granted this honour by his people.
It was not surprising that the king worked closely with Pui Phanit, the environment minister and the only female in the Thai government whose senior posts were held by the militia.
There is no appeasing a woman campaigner, for her bigoted instinct within her will not accept a compromise, rather she will fight to the death - and so it was with Pui. She was determined to stamp out the slaughter of elephants that was happening in South East Asia as well as in many parts of Africa, not that legislation would put an end to the destruction, more slow it down and it would empower the authorities to impose the severest penalties upon anyone caught trading in ivory or poaching. She wanted the world to revere her country but with prolific prostitution, part of the Thai culture, and the growth of trade in drugs, she had an almost impossible task but she was going to make her voice heard in Vienna.
Pui at twenty-nine was single and a very eligible young lady too, married to her work she lived with her parents and younger sister on the outskirts of Bangkok.
Over the past three days, Pui had been visiting villages along the Burmese border, overseeing some of the work in areas where they were reluctant to undergo any sort of change. Being so fully occupied with her work precluded her assisting with domestic chores or cooking, so she paid a little extra to her parents and the family amah. Pui's younger sister, Prem, was still at university.
Arriving home after her visit to the North, she was confronted with a very distressed amah. 'Oh miss,' she complained in her native tongue, 'when I returned from shopping there was no-one at home.' Pui tried to comfort her but even she knew that her parents would never go away without saying so beforehand.
'And Prem has not come home either - you know she's always in by now.'
'Mai pen rai,’ a never mind, all will be well, Pui comforted with the usual Thai rhetoric, 'perhaps she has found herself a young man, or perhaps the old ones have taken her out.' By eleven o'clock there was still no sign of Pui's family, so she decided to contact the police. After checking with all the hospitals they could not come up with any news. 'At least they appear not to have met with an accident, we have checked all the hospitals,' said the police lieutenant, then he added, 'there's little else we can do - they are old enough to look after themselves - anyway, we wouldn't know where to start looking - even to help an environment minister,' he said with a grin in his voice.
Pui stayed up most of the night and when she did finally retire to bed she could not sleep and was up again at first light. That morning she cancelled all her engagements for the day and remained at home.
It wasn't till mid morning that she discovered a parcel sitting on the doorstep addressed to her on an envelope stuck to the upper side of it. Before undoing the package she broke into the envelope to see if there was a note. She stood aghast, her hands beginning to tremble as she read, 'We have your parents and sister. Do not contact the police - do exactly as you are told - now open the parcel.'
What can I do, she wondered, I’ve already contacted the police. She turned over the note. On the reverse side of those terrible words was written: You will not attend the Viennese congress. Having read so much about terrorism around the world, Pui was reluctant to open the parcel in case it exploded, but then she took comfort in the fact that it would not blow up if they were holding her parents hostage.
She unwrapped the parcel carefully until the contents were revealed. She let out an ear-piercing scream and dropped the package. On the floor lay six little toes.


CHAPTER 3

Whenever Martin Schnipfler needed a rest and time to think, he invariably ventured into Austria for some alpine hiking. For nigh on two years he had been a member of Greenpeace but grew at odds with them over the way they demonstrated their protests. Still Germany's leading naturalist, he was never short of work and was frequently asked to speak at Green gatherings around the continent and was expected to stand as a candidate for the Green Party. He rarely left his house without his camera and a small cassette recorder.
Based in Alpbach on the Tyrolean border in Austria, Schnipfler rose early to wend his way to a starting point for his hike. It was a glorious, cloudless day with an azure space, which seemed to reach down to him as he climbed the spiralling pathways. It is difficult to get lost in areas where there are hiking schemes because of the different colour-coded markings painted on rocks along each route.
He had been busying himself with his camera as he watched a group of marmets scurrying around some low rocks in the middle of a meadow. Nearby a salamander popped out from behind some rocks to see what or who had the audacity to intrude upon its privacy, ogling the figure ogling the fauna. Satisfied with his photography, Schnipfler moved on, sometimes crossing meadowland, other times crunching his way on shingle that fell away sharply to a ravine.
Within minutes of packing away his camera into his rucksack, he found he could barely see a hand in front of him - he had penetrated a wall of fog. The temperature suddenly dropped. Following the blue and white concentric circles of his route was just about possible but the fog now made it much more difficult. All of a sudden he walked into a sheep, stumbled and fell - on picking himself up he found hundreds of the weird woollies staring him in the face. They didn't seem to appreciate his being there because they suddenly stampeded giving him no opportunity to find an escape route - there was little room to manoeuvre because to his right was a three metre rock face - he could not see what lay on the left, possibly a sudden drop for a couple of thousand feet, so he decided to hug the rock face, almost deafened by the chorus of bleating smelly creatures, some of which were limping badly and had obviously come to grief on a slope. Once again he was pushed to the ground and trampled on as the terrified flock pressed on regardless of where they were heading. 'Thanks a million!' he called out to one scruffy looking individual who had deposited its own cluster of 'currants' all over him.
Rising to his feet as the last one passed, he brushed himself down and felt spots of rain - then it came in earnest - not raining as it had started but now snowing so that there was a complete white-out. Within moments there was a thick white carpet, obliterating all the route marks.
If he decided to turn back there would be no guarantee that he would return to where he started because there were endless places where the tracks forked or crossed. Being an experienced hiker, he always carried a map of the area and an orienteering compass which he duly extracted from his cagoule and studied the map, remembering some of the landmarks he had passed before hitting the fog, and so he made his way forward to seek one of the alpine Hutte indicated on his map.
Within the hour, the snow had ceased, leaving him enshrouded in fog hovering above the dry snow. There was a stillness that was occasionally broken by distant cowbells of the cattle that had not yet been taken down to their winter abode. Luck was with him as he stumbled onto the hut long before he had expected and was soon rewarded with a Schnapps that set him aglow inwardly. Within five minutes he was tucking into a thick homemade soup, Bratwurst and a roll. The host was typically Austrian - a jolly robust soul who enjoyed a good yarn, he soon discovered.
By the time Schnipfler was back in the valley, he found the sun guarding it as it had when he left, but there was a stillness that seemed unnatural for there was usually a good deal of noise from the camaradie amongst the tourists and in particular, the villagers themselves. The whole village stood still - not a shop open although it was well past the afternoon opening time - no-one was supping coffee or drinking beer outside the Gasthofs. Solemnly the local inhabitants, augmented by scores of holiday-makers, lined the streets in silence, it was like watching a silent movie. Schnipfler edged his way to the front to see what was going on and heard the sound of a distant band gradually wending its way nearer. Around the corner, leading into the main street, came a languid procession, snaking its way to the little church - at the front, four men clad in national costume carried a coffin on which rested a solitary red rose whilst ensuing mourners hefted huge oval wreaths, each dangling to within a few centimetres from the ground. Some uttered lamentations whilst at the tail, a band played a dirge that froze the hearts of the onlookers. There was a soul-rending ambience that drew tears from the strangers. No villager, except the bedridden, remained at home - the houses left open were a field day for would-be burglars, but this was rural Austria - they knew their possessions were safe; no-one would ever dream of even stripping fruit from the boughs of the heavily laden apple trees that overhung the spotless pavements. Red geraniums, red and white petunias, the national colours, adorned the window boxes the length of every building, lining the streets. Below large looming eaves glared down upon a splendid array of meticulously nurtured flowers and shrubs in the front gardens.
The funeral procession turned into the church followed by mourners and as many villagers that could squeeze into the little white stuccoed little baroque church under its slender green spire. Bordering two sides of the building was the graveyard unparalleled with its wrought iron, each grave adorned with a photograph of the occupant as they were in their heydays. At night a little candle set in a red glass burned on each grave all of which were packed with an assortment of fresh blooms, well trimmed so that no dead flowers were visible. In between the graves was coarse gravel, completely free from weeds. The villagers there knew their relatives and friends could rest in peace knowing that their remains would be well tended with loving care amidst the picturesque panorama of the surrounding slopes.
The service over, the place was transformed as the mourners unveiled themselves and joined in the wake - splendid food and Unterhaltung in the Jurgens Gasthof. The shops opened their doors once again as everything returned to normality just as though nothing had ever happened.
Schnipfler bought a daily Zeitung and returned to his Gasthaus a couple of kilometres out of the village, set in the midst of a farm. After a quick shower he settled himself down to read his paper. The report of the Thai environment minister's missing family triggered off an alarm at the back of his mind, causing him to delve into the back editions he had saved over the past two weeks that he had been staying there. He began searching until he found the other articles he had remembered reading. 'I thought so,' he murmured aloud, 'this is more than a coincidence - yes - there is a definite connection - that I am certain of. Something very peculiar is most certainly going on.' He was unaware that the funeral he had witnessed that afternoon was of Austria’s own representative appointed to attend the congress at their capital.
That evening, after sampling yet another Austrian culinary delight, he returned to his room and dialled a number in Amsterdam.

Steve 'Misty' Foggle was invalided out of the Vietnam war but not before he learnt how to outwit the Vietcong and beat them at their own game. The war may have been lost but his platoon usually won battles. His own platoon members held the lieutenant in high esteem and felt protected in his presence, but alas, one day, only three of the men survived as the ground of the jungle opened up in front of B Platoon who were mown down by machine-gun fire and grenades. It happened so suddenly - one minute only the natural sounds of the rain forest, the rustling of the foliage and twittering of birds, then all hell was let loose. B Platoon's scouts had failed to locate the hidden entrances to the labyrinth of tunnels and quarters that laced the depths of the jungle - entire villages thrived under the earth, completely undetected, including hospitals and schools. Misty, a sergeant and a corporal were leading the platoon and had been sufficiently in advance of the rest as to be able to conceal themselves on hearing the first sounds of the ambush - the gunfire was one-sided, it was no use their running back, there was little they could do to help, so they hastily climbed a convenient tree from where they could see what was happening. Normality was restored after the bodies had been searched and anything of value and weapons removed - then Charlie returned to their subterranean abode.
The onlookers in the trees felt so impotent, unable to help their fellow soldiers but they made a mental note of the position of the fox holes. 'Right, sir,' said Chalky White after they had met up at the base of Misty's tree, 'let's give them hell, we've ample ammunition between us to pay them back.'
'No, Chalky,' Misty reprimanded, 'do you realise how many miles of tunnels there are under here?' he asked rhetorically, 'it would be as effective as throwing snowballs at them. It will also tell them that there are more of us around and they won't let us off the hook, that's for certain and I for one don't want to be around for a repeat performance either.'
'What do we do then, sir?' Chalky asked, suitably convinced by Misty's vehement outburst.
'We soldier on, if you will forgive the pun under these circumstances. We should meet up with another unit hopefully - until then we take the least likely way through all this shrubbery.'
They could only hear the helicopters that whirred overhead because the canopy was so dense that only the odd ray of sun penetrated like a thin laser beam. The men progressed in arrow form with Sergeant Langley at the cusp. It was slow going and hot work making a mile in two hours. Occasionally they would meet up with a clearing or perhaps cross a track - it was in such a place that the sergeant signalled the other two to stop whilst he went to investigate what was leaning against a tree twenty yards ahead - he could make out a slight protrusion. On closing in, he was able to establish that it was a human being in uniform. He decided to wheel round and sweep in from the other side to get a better look. It was certainly American, no doubt about that from the colour of the skin - looked as though he were asleep. Checking for any tell-tale sounds, Langley moved in close. 'Poor sod's most probably exhausted - lost his platoon maybe - unless they've been wiped out too.' A gentle awakening was in order he decided, but he never knew that the poor soul was already dead because the two of them were blown to smithereens.
'Doesn't sound too good, sir,' Chalky whispered.
'Whatever the sergeant found was booby-trapped. That will certainly draw attention.' As he spoke he could see American uniforms moving about. 'Looks
as though we've found our buddies.' They both came out into the open but his words hung in the air as they realised their folly - the bodies in the American uniforms were yellow and slit-eyed, menacing in their pointing of rifles at them. They had no alternative but to lay down their arms and raise their hands.
Misty was surprised at his own tolerance level, suffering torture by day and standing neck deep in water, locked in a submerged cage at night, but still he wouldn't and couldn't give them the information they wanted.
Initially Misty and Chalky were tied to a rattan chair and asked questions politely by the wide-nosed general, two NCOs flanking each of them. The general's patience grew thin and the smile, which belied the ferocity of his eyes, disappeared. The flanking NCOs now each whipped their bare backs three lashes but they refused to speak other than uttering their name, rank and number. They were treated to a repeat performance the following day with the same result but now passing in and out of consciousness. From that day on they were deprived of food and water so that the next day with swollen tongues they were stripped and left to hang upside down from a tree in direct sun until evening when they were taken down and interrogated by a more junior officer. Their lips were swollen and cracked and their eyelids inflated as they sat tied to a chair with bowls of water placed in sight but out of reach. The general appeared again to stress the folly of their resistance offering them all the water they needed and 'home comforts' as he called them, parading naked girls in front of them, each carrying a pile of luscious fruit - if only they would change their stance.
'Look,' said Misty, 'we were the only ones to survive an ambush by your goons,' he was slapped hard across the face so that his lips split, 'I tell you, we were lost - no idea where the units are - we were looking for them ourselves - we know no more than you - probably less.' The general inclined his head and looked at the man holding a whip who responded with a couple more lashes.
The water prevented the wounds healing, just accentuating the pain. Like animals in a zoo, people came to look at them in their cages but they didn't proffer any food.
The next day there was a repeat of the stringing up ceremony but this time they were only lowered so that their hair touched the ground - the next stage of the torture began as one man took a dried elephant's penis and began pounding the soles of their feet - still to no avail.
That night there was the unusual parade of visitors and onlookers but it was well into the early hours of the morning that Misty felt a prod in the back. A girl, whom Misty had noticed the previous evening, put a finger to her mouth - Misty looked at the stick still dangling into the cage, hanging from it was a net bag of fruit. Taking hold of it he was about to eat when he stopped himself - it could well be a trap, he thought - it may well be drugged or poisoned - but the girl smiled and sampled from the bag herself as a gesture of reassurance. The stick was withdrawn and then he heard fumbling on top of the cage as the girl released the fastenings and quickly ran off into the night. Chalky who was further into the water, could not see what was happening, could only hear sounds that told of a change of fortune. After a further hour his queries were resolved when Misty appeared, unfastening his cage door so that he could ease himself out. Neither of them was yet convinced that the girl acted in good faith - it must be a trap, Misty kept saying repeatedly. ‘Perhaps they realised they were not going to get anywhere with their interrogating,’ he said, ‘and arranged our escape to save face. Perhaps they will follow us and shoot us when we get a little way.’ They couldn't be much worse off than they were in their present predicament so they decided to take a chance.
Misty and Chalky made their way south, studying the position of the sun when it was setting - they trundled along for nigh on two hours, but with unbearably sore feet from the beating together with sheer exhaustion they made little progress. Concealing themselves in a thicket they settled down for some sleep, but with backs and feet throbbing, sleep didn't come easily.
The dawn chorus aroused them - at least they were still alive even though they were much the worse for their treatment, at least no-one had followed them or shot at them, Chalky pointed out.
Unlike previous ambushes, there was a lone sniper in a tree ahead of them. By the time Misty heard the report he had been hit in the thigh. At first he thought he had run into a branch and looked down only to find blood trickling down his leg - the bullet had missed the bone and gone clean through the flesh. Whilst still trying to make out what had happened, there was a sudden thud and he found a body lying in front of him. Chalky, some feet away, had seen the flash and fired directly at it, high into a tree. Although the force of the shot had knocked the sniper to the ground, neither the bullet nor the fall had killed him. Before Misty had realised what was going on, the sniper sat up, knife in hand, and lunged into him. Out of the corner of his eye Misty saw something shiny glint in the half light and made to sidestep with the result that his already injured thigh took the brunt of the thrust and he was flung to the ground whilst the assailant had recovered his balance sufficiently to make a lunge to his unprotected heart. There was a dull popping sound and the sniper seemed to be frozen in his stance, mouth wide open stifling a scream he dropped to the ground. 'Thanks, Chalky,' Misty managed to murmur as the wounds floated him on the wings of consciousness. Chalky had moved swiftly on hearing the thud of the sniper's fall.
By the time they stumbled on friendly faces by way of C Platoon scouts, Misty had lost a good deal of blood despite Chalky's application of a tourniquet improvised from his own shirt. The injury had bought Misty out of the futile war but the following month Chalky lost his life, ironically to a sniper's bullet.

'Yes?' Misty picked up the phone but he was always reluctant to give his name until he had established the identity of the caller.
'Martin..... Green Martin,' he said, not willing to give his full name - his profile was too high.
'I should have recognised the accent - sorry, can't be too careful. How's the world treating you, or have you fallen out with it again?' he joked.
'On holiday actually.' There was a pause and then, 'Something has cropped up that looks highly suspicious to me and I may well need your expertise and advice. Can we meet? Are you free?'
'Sure, when? Where?'
'Say to-night, Frankfurt, usual place.'
'You certainly don't hang around do you? You're on - Tschus!'

The Kneipe was only an informal bar where they could blend into the patronage with anonymity - the casual meet and a snack. Schnipfler left, followed closely by Misty.
It was not long before Schnipfler was outlining the situation to his friend as they strolled on the north bank of the Main. Schnipfler waited for Misty's reaction.
'It strikes me there's definitely a connection - but this then presents us with two problems.' Good, thought Schnipfler, he's already conceded to my goading, he's counted himself in already. 'We have terrorists to seek out and remove and then we have to find the person who ordered all this terror in the first place,' opined Misty, ‘not to mention the whys and wherefores.’
'There's a third factor - of equal importance,' put in Schnipfler, 'We have little time before the congress in Vienna and somehow we have to ensure that everything goes ahead as planned.'
'I'll leave that one for you to solve, meanwhile I would like to see the press cuttings which you have obviously brought with you.' Misty did his routine check to ensure they weren't being followed.
'No-one's any reason to keep tabs on us - there's no need to keep on checking.'
'Nevertheless, it's why I'm still alive and I intend to keep it that way. By the way, where are you staying?'
‘At the Frankfurt Savoy in the Wiesenhuttenstrasse. Anyway, where are you staying?'
‘The Mainkrone, Room 217 actually.' They both laughed aloud at the thoughts of the last time they had stayed there together and were mistaken for a couple of pimps.
Misty sat on the corner of the bed reading the reports at least six times over whilst Schnipfler sat in silence in an easy chair contemplating his responsibility. Suddenly Misty slapped the papers on his hand, looked at Schnipfler and said, 'There's no way we can clear this lot up before Vienna, they're too widespread - England, Zimbabwe, Thailand, Japan - it's just not possible. A partly done job will be of no use and will be a certain recipe for disaster - it will endanger the lives of the others. Didn’t you say you were in Alpbach. I see they have just buried their own representative!'
'We still have fifteen days - I have an idea how to deal with the actual problem of Vienna but nothing we can do about it for the moment. Now, I suggest we make a start in Zimbabwe, at least there are no missing persons over there, from all accounts – yet,’ he added, ‘so we should have something solid to go on. The word 'something' belied his otherwise impeccable English, he pronounced it 'sumsink'.
'OK, but how do we know we're not going to need an army?' he joked. Little did they realise at the time how near to the truth they had come - something about many a true word spoken in jest?

Work had already begun on clearing away the debris and like a phoenix, the Foreskins' homestead began to rise out of the ashes just as Reg Dixon used to appear on his Wurlitzer in the Tower Ballroom in Blackpool. Tom had already organised a team of his faithful staff - he was popular with his men and Nkosi had always treated them well so they were quite prepared to give their lives for the Foreskin family. There was a price to pay for their work on the house - they were away from their normal tasks. As though there had been a bush telegraph system to signal it, unseen hands had been busy at work at the farm's dam.
Early next morning there was a hammering at the door of the Foreskin's temporary residence. Pieter, still partially in slumberland, staggered to the door like a drunken man only to be confronted with a trembling Tom. 'Nkosi, I do not know how to tell you - it's all my fault - I shouldn't have taken so many men away from their....'
'What is it Tom? You look as though you have seen a ghost - come in, man.' Tom's eyes quickly watered just as Pieter's had begun to grow accustomed to the daylight. 'It's, it's the cattle,' he choked.
'What about them, Tom? Out with it, I'm not going to eat you.'
'They're, they're...... all dead!'
'All dead, ALL dead? How come?'
'Well, not all, some were still writhing in pain so we had to shoot most of them.'
'What do you mean, in pain?'
'They were all poisoned - someone has put poison into the water hole - what are we going to do, Nkosi?' Pieter was known for his understanding and compassion, which was now evident in his reaction - there was no anger or bitterness – he was always quiet and tranquil in serious adversity.
Tom took Pieter to the dam and showed him what was tantamount to a holocaust. 'You needn't reproach yourself, Tom my friend, look over there - see those inflated carcasses floating in the distance? They must have been dumped in there a short while back - maybe when we were raided, maybe before - they are putrefied - that's what has poisoned the cattle, poor things. You'll have to leave the work on the bungalow because you'll have your work cut out burying that lot. It will be no use clearing the dam, there is no way that we can use that one again.' Foreskin's words were of little comfort, not that his men minded hard work, but they were just as likely to take the law into their own hands, then it would be God help any unfamiliar face found on the farm. ‘Put half your men onto starting a new water hole, my house is not so important.’
Returning to Tom's house, Pieter described what had happened and said to Penny, 'I think now that it would be wise if you take the children and lie up with my brother in Durban for a while - at least until after the congress in Vienna.'
Penny conceded that it might be a wise decision, but not to Durban. After the trauma the children had experienced, a complete change of culture could possibly be a far better cure, so she decided to take them to England, the country where she was born and bred.

CHAPTER 4

If past missions to troubled spots were an indication as to how Misty treated his vehicles, he stood no chance of renting anything with wheels even as simple as a plain push bike let alone a Land Rover which he and Martin Schnipfler were poring over in Harare. Obviously his reputation hadn't preceded him as far a field as Zimbabwe - after all it was his first and maybe last visit to the country so the dealer treated them both with more than a restrained modicum of courtesy.
Having equipped themselves with suitable transport they set about furnishing themselves with the bare necessities for a few days in the scrub. Misty's somewhat unsavoury French friend, Marcel Asher, had given him the name of a contact so that he could purchase the necessary weapons. If he were successful in his mission then the country, out of sheer gratitude, would surely reimburse him - if the other happened he wouldn't need money where he would be dispatched.
The Foreskins' farm lay north-east of Hwange National Park which covered an area comparable with Northern Ireland. Misty decided that a word with the environment minister in The president's one-party government was as good a starting place as any but unfortunately unbeknownst to the two men they had already passed the minister on the road going in the opposite direction.
On arrival, Schnipfler raised an eyebrow at the excuse for a farm house. They parked their Land Rover, double checked the locks and strolled down to the farm manager's residence. There was no response to their knocking. 'So much for our solid start,' Misty sighed but they hadn't arrived without alerting one of the boss boys who materialised out of nowhere as though they had rubbed a magic lantern, or perhaps he was a ninja in disguise. 'Can I help you?'
'We would like to see Pieter Foreskin.'
'Did you have an appointment?'
'No, but....'
'Then you can't expect to see him, he's a busy man and right now he's not here.'
'This is where he lives?'
'Yes..... and no.'
'It's like speaking to an ape,' Misty turned to Schnipfler in disgust, then to the boss boy, 'Where can we find the farm manager?'
'Right here,' a voice sounded from behind the two visitors. Misty breathed a sigh of relief believing he would get some sense out of this man anyway.
'We need to see Pieter Foreskin - we've come all the way from Germany and we thought....'
'I'm sorry, gentlemen, the Foreskins have all gone to the capital - the minister should be back this evening, can I be of any help to you? The boss boy walked off muttering some obscenities in Ndebele, leaving the visitors to explain their presence to Tom. Tom was his hospitable self and quite readily engaged in conversation and it was not long before Tom had explained the trauma the family had suffered.
'We only discovered this morning that whoever these men were,' here he boasted about killing one of them, 'they must have dumped carcasses in the dam as well - this morning I found all our cattle dead or dying. We shall never be able to use the dam again, I'm afraid. Fortunately this farm doesn't rely purely on animal stock - we have several hundred acres of maize and tobacco too. So far, no-one seems to have touched the crops as far as we can tell.' Misty stifled a whistle of surprise. 'They mean business, all the men are terrified,’ Tom went on, ‘they think these terrorists will come back and attack their families in retaliation for my killing one of them.' Then as an afterthought, 'and I may have winged one of the others too. I had a darned good try to get their car.' It was said as though he were expecting an immediate commendation.
Tom was more than accommodating, and suggested that the two men may like to roam around the farm and perhaps return to his humble accommodation where he would be more than pleased to give them a meal and any more information they may need.
As it was their first visit to Zimbabwe, the two visitors had much to learn and kept Tom in conversation for three hours, learning about survival in the scrub. It was a harrowing sight to see the farm hands tackling the mammoth task of removing the dead cattle - inside Martin Schnipfler, a sense of burning hatred for the perpetrators was fast building up and he hoped to heaven that he and Misty would have a chance of evening up the score. Learning about the country, the flora and fauna and the farm could well be of help in tracking down and dealing with these men.
Tom explained how that Harare was built on a Shona camp around a kopje. The nearest thing Schnipfler had come across to these hillocks was the English tor in the south west of the country, but Misty was none the wiser having never set foot on English soil - it took a German to explain it more clearly.
Tom's wife was certainly no oil painting but she was a warm, friendly soul wearing a flower-patterned dress that looked more like a pinafore. Misty could easily understand why Tom had chosen such a woman as she oozed a cheerful sincere personality. Her black hair, now greying at the temples, was tied back in a chignon, taking it off the forehead and giving a false impression of hardness not typically short and curly as one would normally expect. They were treated to a braai, a popular barbecue which they could scent well before they saw it. They sat under a beobob tree with its gnarled bole and curly branches that would have been a credit to any witch’s coven.
'Pieter Foreskin may suggest otherwise, but I reckon that you can't go wrong if you can track down a herd of elephants - I doubt if the men you want would be far away.' Tom then proceeded to talk about elephants and their habits, but the two visitors felt that he found these creatures a nuisance and was not the sort who would vote for the killing of elephants to be outlawed because of the damage they did on the farm. Unlike the British media's recent portrayal condemning the slaughter because they thought that the animals would soon become extinct, he thought that culling was a necessity. 'Do you know,' he went on, 'there are two distinctive ranks of bull? When it's time to visit the water hole, the young bulls go first to see that all's well then they go out into the bush and stand sentry whilst the old bulls lead the rest to drink. When they've had their fill, the old bulls lead them out then the young bulls take them off.' They talked about the value of the elephant, 'We indigenes enjoy the flesh, in particular the liver which we eat raw, Tom went on.' Schnipfler's stomach did a somersault and then he silently gave thanks that they had only eaten cooked meat - but he wondered if it had been elephant meat. As though Tom had read his thoughts he said, 'You'd soon know if you'd eaten elephant meat. I've eaten it after it's been cooked for over a week and still it was tough and tasted vile.'
'When I think of African countries,' Misty chipped in, 'I imagine a mass of burnt grass and dryness everywhere - but look at the place, it's not like that at all.'
'You would be correct, many parts of Africa are like that but there is very much lush greenery here - the average rainfall is in the region of seventy-five centimetres a year which all falls around November or December and continues to March. Have you ever seen a jacarinda tree?' he suddenly asked.
'No,' said Schnipfler, 'but I've read about them.'
'Ah, but no book can describe the beauty of what we call the flame tree with its orange and red flowers. Later they turn to purple - We haven’t any on the estate but I hope you will have the chance of seeing one in full bloom before you leave the country.'
We don't plan on staying that long,' Schnipfler said. Just then they heard a car door slam and the minister appeared looking very tired but he perked up and showed genuine welcome when he was introduced to the two visitors but until he had established the credentials of his guests, Pieter Foreskin exercised caution but there was still fear in his eyes.
'Don't worry, we're here to help you,' Schnipfler tried to reassure him but even then he was sceptical and was still reserved as he chatted with these strangers. He told them he'd sent his family away for safety but he gave no hint as to where they were. They talked amicably for some time and the two men began to like the minister as he began to thaw out and he in turn was beginning to feel at ease and safer with them around. They outlined details of the Vienna convention to Tom, explaining that there was a force at work determined to prevent it going ahead - it seemed to have been organised on a world-wide basis as some countries involved were more drug-orientated whereas others were more concerned about the protection of whales and elephants.
'At least we are nearby should you need us,' said Misty and presented the minister with a spare RT to keep in touch - if you are too far away to reach us you can summon up help in an emergency. Foreskin said that they were welcome to stay with him.
'We need to acclimatise ourselves to living out in the scrub,' Misty insisted, 'thanks anyway but we need to get used to sounds, seeing in the dark, learning to exist without giving away our presence by smell.' Schnipfler had much to learn if they were to survive when the going became tough.
Foreskin concurred that to start with a search for an elephant herd was possibly the best opening and made arrangements for a friend of his to pick up the two of them in his helicopter the next morning after they had gathered together all the equipment they would need including an arsenal of weapons to meet all possible contingencies and adequate rations to span a period of three weeks. They had many offers of help but Misty knew from experience that for a task like this, additional bodies would be much more of a hindrance if not a positive danger.
The next twelve hours or so were spent on the estate. By the time they left Foreskin, the men were confident their presence had now given comfort to the environment minister and once word had travelled round the workers on the bush telegraph the farm workers as well.
Misty thought it pertinent that Schnipfler should take on the role of leader, he would soon put him right if he slipped up. 'Remember, it's a simple thing overlooked that could be the death of both of us.'
Within an hour of setting out into the scrub, Schnipfler signalled that he had found a suitable area to stop and so they began to make a fire. After a quick meal and a meander around the farm they turned in for the night, Schnipfler placed himself near the fire. 'That's your first mistake, Mart'n, a fire attracts attention, so you should never sleep near it - you may never wake up again,' Misty reprimanded in a friendly but assertive manner. 'Neither does one smoke - it's not just the smell that carries but you would be surprised how far away the glow from the tip of it can be seen at night.'
'I don't smoke, you ought to know that.'
'Just reminding myself really, or perhaps you may find yourself having to educate a naive smoker, you never know.' At that moment there was a coughing sound, alerting Misty whose ears were now akimbo like a dog's. By now the men had already moved away from the fire and concealed themselves inside some innocent looking acacia scrub so that they could keep the fire and its surrounds in sight. The distinct sound of rustling drew nearer. Misty grabbed hold of his M16 automatic rifle which he had to hand, held it steady - it was too much of a give-away to release the safety catch, he was trained to combine that action with pulling the trigger in one movement. Schnipfler began to look worried, training his eyes from one extremity of his vision panning across to the other and slowly back again – ‘Over there!’ There was a dark patch that wasn't there a moment ago - he touched Misty on the arm and pointed. They waited - the visitor must now surely realise that there was no-one around the fire - what would be their next move? As the black blur began to move, Misty followed it with his rifle, patient, still but alert - then he relaxed and lowered his weapon and began to laugh. 'For goodness sake!' Schnipfler shouted a whisper but then he too began to chuckle as the form took on the shape of a cow that was by now making a snorting sound as it started sniffing and investigating the area. 'I thought there were no cattle left,' Schnipfler said.
'It must have found water elsewhere - perhaps it's the sole survivor of the herd.'
So that the poor creature could not possibly stray over to the dam and poison itself, the two set about catching it which, to anyone watching, would have provided comic entertainment somewhat akin to a Laurel and Hardy film. Eventually, worn out and breathless, they tethered the animal to a baobob tree. They had no problems sleeping that night.
The last time Misty experienced a ride in a helicopter he swore he would never set foot in one again - it was three years ago in the Amazon region of Brazil:
The talks had begun peacefully enough - vital plant-life was fast dying out, many of them containing substances unexplored by man like the British acorn whose acid has interested scientists for some years. For lack of a better nomenclature they call it acornic acid. Trees were being hewn down at an alarming rate - the destruction in the Amazon forests was becoming horrendous and escalating at an alarming rate. Someone had to make these people see sense as whole rain forests were disappearing, changing the whole course of nature. These people were like ruthless gangsters - they just didn't care - to hell with the future generations, they thought, the present was the important thing - the pure greed and selfishness of man. To these people the solution to all problems was to resort to force rather than negotiate amicably around a table. That's exactly what was happening - resorting to fisticuffs, then others joined in, then came the weapons. 'Get out of here or we'll blow your brains out,' they had yelled as Schnipfler's team took to their heels and made for the helicopter.
That should have been the end of it - at least for the time being - but not so. As soon as the helicopter took off they started firing at it, even throwing stones. One bullet pierced the fuselage, another went straight through the pilot's temple and the helicopter just fell out of the sky like a falling rock, killing one of Schnipfler's colleagues. He and Terry Walsh, another member of the team, scrambled out dazed, cut and bruised - then the chase was on - a dozen armed thugs began to comb the forest for them. The propellers had become entangled in the trees but the weight of the fuselage eventually severed the link with them and it fell nose first to the ground burying itself in the foliage.
The odds against Schnipfler and Walsh evading the enraged men were stacked high, first because of the very ratio of six to one and secondly because neither of the men had any experience of survival in jungle conditions. Ironically it was a tree stump that saved Schnipfler's life, for as he fell, a hail of bullets tore though the air where his body would have been. The failing light also helped the two fugitives who climbed trees and concealed themselves from their already jaded pursuers who had by now decided to call it a day before the light failed altogether.
Clambering down to earth again, the two environmentalists warily plodded on until they stumbled across a small river where they found a log raft that had jammed itself in a culvert. Wrenching it free they took a chance on the fast-flowing current and let it carry them down stream. Once the moon had shed its clouded cover it remained a guiding light. They must have travelled at least two miles before the submarine eddies whirled the raft to the bank, fortunately in the nick of time as the weir, only a hundred metres further on, would have engulfed them ensuring a watery grave for the pair. Walsh reached out and grabbed a protruding branch, which was just strong enough to stem their impetus and enable them to scramble onto land.
Exhausted from their physical exertions, they each found a bole of a tree where they fell asleep, but that wasn't the end of their troubles. At sunrise, Schnipfler rose to arouse Walsh and was about to shake him when he froze. Curled in his partner's lap was a tree snake which had slithered down whilst he slept and buried its fangs in the man's throat. 'Well, my friend,' Schnifpler said aloud in nervous reaction, 'at least you didn't feel anything - you just didn't wake up - what a way to go.'

Schnipfler stood by the side of the chopper visibly shaking uncontrollably - if he took the plunge he would no doubt master the fear but he just couldn't put a foot forward. Misty was already aboard waving him in but he only stood there staring. 'Hell man, what's come over you, for goodness sake, get your ass in this damn machine and let's go.' His words fell on deaf ears as Schnipfler stood there transfixed, oblivious of anyone or anything else - memories brought action replays, frame by frame in slow motion, of the traumatic crash. Misty leapt out of the machine and bodily picked up Schnipfler, pack as well, and hefted him inside. He had seen a similar case of severe vertigo in Vietnam when he just had to clobber a private cold before they could get him inside. Once they were airborne, the fear subsided and Schnipfler reacted as though nothing had happened.
The sound of the helicopter stirred up a troop of giraffes as though their heads would have been sliced off had they stayed. It was a spectacular sight - at least thirty of them leaping for safety, their lank bodies trailing their outstretched necks. The pilot decided to take a circle of a mile radius, spiralling inwards, then another circle and so on until on the fifth stretch, having moved inwards a quarter of a mile, he caught sight of about eighty elephants moving south east. 'If you can put us down about a mile ahead of that lot, that will do us fine,' Misty called to the pilot. 'It's a start anyway.' He turned to Schnipfler, 'we've no other lead to go on.'
The climate was not conducive to hefting around the amount of gear the two carried. 'Let's have a drink and lighten our load,' Schnipfler suggested, really to calm himself down after the flight more than anything else for it had more effect on him than he would care to admit. They found themselves a spot in the shade of a wild fig and took out a Windhoek. 'Ugh!' came the expletive from the American, 'just like the British warm beer!' but Schnipfler ignored the comment and carried on swigging lustily.
'I say we move in closer to the herd and then try to get ahead of them,' Misty suggested, 'maybe we can pick up the tracks of the hunters.'
'If there are any,' Schnipfler replied cynically, 'why not wait - if there are poachers, they'll be keeping abreast of the herd - we're just as likely to spot them here as anywhere - what's the use of lugging this lot around unnecessarily?'
'Yeah, maybe you're right, but just suppose they don't come this way?'
'I'll lay a mark to a maggot they do - unless something or someone changes their mind for them.'
'You know, Martin, I've got this uncanny feeling that there's someone around here - In Nam I always proved myself right and saved my ass many a time because of my sixth sense.'
They looked around for somewhere suitable to stash their load but Misty was reluctant to become separated from it for he felt the invisible eyes on him and feared for its safety. Schnipfler accidentally stumbled upon a cleft in the rock that was secreted behind the trunk of an acacia just as he went to relieve himself. 'Here,' he shouted, 'this is ideal,' but before stashing away their equipment they each extracted a pistol and knife.
'I tell you, someone is watching us, Mart'n,' Americans never pronounce the second syllable in that name. Where possible they lengthen vowels where the British use short and shorten the ones they lengthen, they have denigrated the English language shamelessly and now the British are stupid enough to copy them.
They agreed to split up and scour the area. They had barely parted when Schipfler spotted the spoor. 'Psst!'
'What's up?'
'Look - you're right, no shoes either, just one of them by the looks of it and recent too. Let's track him,' he whispered. They seemed to be going around in circles and then the spoor evaporated. 'Either he's been wiping his tracks or he's been leading us up the garden path.'
'Or maybe up a tree,' Misty was recollecting the days in the Vietnamese jungle only too vividly. 'He must have been prying when he heard the chopper. OK, radio silence,' he joked. Suddenly Schnipfler was on his knees with an ear to the ground. Not far away, he thought as he detected the languid thud of the advancing herd. Misty had a job to control his laughter at the sight of his friend, arse in the air, who then beckoned him to follow in the direction of the oncoming animals.
It was a while before they picked up the human spoor again. Misty began to wonder who were the head hunters and who the hunted, then he held his revolver in his right hand at the ready. Schnipfler gestured as he caught sight of the leading animals and Misty broke their silence. 'If there are any poachers, we should find out in the next few minutes,' he murmured.
'Do you know how they trap elephants? Quite simply by surrounding them,' he answered himself, 'so we're looking for considerably more people than a loan hunter.' After a pause, Schnipfler had to own up. 'I must come clean - I knew the elephants would come this way because there's a water hole just the other side of that kopje - I saw it from the helicopter.' Then he added, 'and I thought you were the observant one!'
'Well here's a test for you then old buddy. Lead me back to where we hid our gear.'
'OK - no problem,' Schnipfler bluffed, 'follow me!'
An hour later they were hopelessly lost - at least Schnipfler was and had to concede the fact to his partner. 'OK clever guy, you get us out of this mess - I bet you can't do it either.'
'I'm at a disadvantage - this starting point is much further out than where we began an hour ago,’ he said confidently, ‘and still I'll find it for you,' then as an adjunct seconds later, 'in the dark as well - or blindfolded if you prefer,' he joked, rubbing in the fact that this was no bluff.
Within the quarter hour they were standing in front of the hideout. 'Pity I didn't make a bet with you!'
'All right - point taken. I suppose the loser has to drag out our stuff,' and with that he disappeared into the cleft. 'Hey, Misty, come here!' he yelled, 'someone's been here.' Misty ran in and noticed the disarray - their gear had very obviously been searched.
'Let's drag it out and check if anything's missing,' Schnipfler suggested. They each scrutinised their packs.
'Well, let's hope we don't have to be out here too long,' Misty complained, 'some of my food's disappeared.
'Mine too,' added Schnipfler. 'At least I can say that we are fairly safe, he's not taken any weapons or ammunition - which really confirms that he is not one of the poachers.'
'Unless he's got enough weapons already. Possibly it’s some loner short of food.'
They looked around for tell-tale signs but whoever it was had covered his tracks well.
'He won't get far carrying that amount of food so he will have stashed it away somewhere,' Misty signified, 'it's no use our trying to locate it, he obviously knows this area like the back of his hand.'
Hungry now the two men opened some bully beef and beans which they washed down with a can of Windhoek. 'We won’t be able to dine in style like this for too long if we are to make the food last so let's savour the taste and be thankful for small mercies,' the soldier stated. 'You know, I bet that N..bloody..Bogowogo, or whatever his name is, is watching us right now.' Schnipfler went goose-pimpled at the thought of it, then Misty stood up and yelled, 'You haven't the guts to show yourself, you ape!'
'And he's likely to understand every word,' Schnipfler was sarcastic after his friend had finished his outburst. 'You may have just as well run to the top of the kopje and yelled it at the top of your voice - with a loud hailer. If he wasn't watching us before, he certainly is now!'
'Yea, sorry Mart'n, you're right of course, I've just had it with him stealing our food and playing cat and mouse.'
'And we can complain? Isn't that what we're trying to do with him? It's just that he's winning - that's what's bugging you - and no leads!'
They returned to their gear. Misty just couldn't credit what Schnipfler did next. He delved into his backpack and pulled out a walkman and a pair of headphones which he promptly donned, closed his eyes and translated himself into another world - completely gone out. Neither man spoke for three quarters of an hour when Schnipfler opened his eyes, a serene expression of pleasure on his face, and put away his player. 'You know there's nothing like a spot of music for restoring one's sanity and recharging the batteries. Music is like a train journey, you know, it travels through exotic passages, changes its speed and rhythm until it finally arrives at the end of its journey, wondrously fulfilled.'
'What were you listening to, dare I ask - some knee slapping oompah band, no doubt.' Misty wasn't sure what sort of a reply to expect.
'This - is my special calming down tape I put together myself - for just such moments as this - slow movements of some of the world's outstanding concerti - Bruch, Mahler, Rachmaninov, Mendelssohn, Mozart, Beethoven to name but a few'
'And you listened to that lot in that time?'
'No, no, of course not, just a selection - my special pack as I call it, has three cassettes which I always take with me on a journey. There are others too - ones that stimulate me when I'm feeling lethargic.' Misty could now both see and hear the effect of the music on this remarkable man. 'Can't be all bad,' he muttered to no-one in particular and then turned to his friend again. 'Are you sure you wouldn't like to get out your easel and start painting,' Misty said ironically.
'Well, I do have a small sketch pad with me - you never know when you're going to need one in my line of duty.' Misty just couldn't believe what he was hearing.
Whilst Schnipfler could not find the need to relieve himself because in such heat all his liquid came through his pores, Misty found that having acclimatised himself to jungle conditions in Vietnam, his body functioned normally in extreme heat so he stood up and wandered away whilst his buddy recovered from his state of euphoria, but he unexpectedly stumbled on a peeping Tom who fled as soon as he saw the man approaching him. 'Hey you, come here!' he yelled and then gave chase. Once again, the alacrity of the man showed that he was no beginner at this cat and mouse lark - he was a survivor. Suddenly Misty was swallowed into a black void as the man sprung out at him from nowhere and clubbed the soldier on the back of the neck. The native was lithe for such a big man and quickly hoisted Misty, slung him over his shoulder and ran off with him.
As Misty stirred, the man cradled his head as he lay against the bole of a wild fig and gave him something bitter to drink, which he spat out as he spluttered and started to cough. The native gestured that it was all right to drink. Although the liquid eased the pain, Misty felt as though he'd taken a quadruple Whisky followed by a quadruple vodka. This man had no intention of giving the soldier a chance to overpower him.
After an hour, Schnipfler began to get concerned at his friend's absence but he assumed that Misty had picked up the spoor and was following it. On this assumption, he once again packed away the gear and tried to raise him on the RT radio.
The native was mystified at the sounds emanating from his captive's pocket, causing him to jump up and step away. Cautiously he edged nearer the sound and when he had plucked up enough courage, he put his hand in Misty's pocket and extracted the speaking box, which he dropped as though it were burning hot. He stared at it whilst it still kept speaking to him - he couldn't understand how anyone could possibly be inside such a small contraption.
Misty turned his head towards the sound but he was helpless to do anything. All he could see was a blur. The native began to get annoyed and started jumping on the black box but it hurt his foot so he picked it up and hurled it at the bole of a nearby tree. The voice was suddenly silent which seemed to please the man. He regarded the box contumely and then set his mind on the other man - he knew there were two of them because he had kept a close eye on them all day. There was no doubting it - he would soon locate him wherever he was - there are so many ways a man can give himself away, not least by his smell, something the average person is unaware of. He had to find his white man before he found him. Schnipfler was no expert even though he had always proved to be a pretty good survivor. The native dragged Misty into full cover and gave him a little more to drink to ensure he wouldn't move away. These faces were new to him and so we wasn't entirely certain that they would be hostile, but he had to assume that they were for the time being so he had to keep them alive until he could be sure.
Having already been embarrassed at not being able to find his way back to their equipment, Schnipfler made sure it wouldn't happen a second time and learnt from Misty's advice which he gave the German as he showed him how to locate the hiding place. He remembered too about not sleeping around a fire, but he was at a loss where to look for his pal. Perhaps he didn't take his own advice and became lost - perhaps he had an accident - perhaps, perhaps, like the indomitable 'if only', it was no consolation to the environmentalist and furthermore he would lose track of the elephants. Maybe a fire would bring him back - he would see the smoke, and then...... The smoke was spotted sure enough, but not by Misty, it just made the native's task that much easier. He bided his time, knew he must drink. He watched him, gauged that he had drunk no more than a third of his can and lured him away with his deliberate deceit, and when Schnipfler moved away he picked up the can, tipped away half of the remaining contents and poured in his own concoction.
Schnipfler thought his drink unusually bitter - 'must be a poor batch,' he heard himself mutter, 'it's still darned good Windhoek, though,' he smiled, 'straight to my head.' He slithered to the ground but couldn't, didn't want to sit up. The native had had no difficulty in rendering him unconscious, picked him up and ran off with him in the same manner that he had hefted Misty and placed him next to him but neither was in a state of mind to be aware of the presence of the other. The native returned to their equipment and took out a rope, bound the two men and let his potion wear off.
It was some hours before the two were fully percipient, despite the pure soothing water the native had administered to them frequently.
'This is all we need, a hostile native who doesn't speak our lingo,' Misty whispered to Schnipfler as they became more aware, 'do you think he's regarding us as his supper?'
'Of course not, they're not like that in this part of the globe, don't worry, but don't get too excited just yet, he'll just as likely kill us if he thinks we pose a threat.'
'Great! Got any ideas how we can convince him we're friendly?'
Food was brought and left for the men but hungry though they were they were afraid to eat in case he had doctored that too. Sensing their reticence he picked up the food, which he had placed between them, ate some himself, smiled and then motioned for the others to eat, uttering words of assurance in Ndebele. Their stomachs, affected both by hunger and the drugged drink, could not accommodate much so they just took enough to maintain their strength. Suddenly Schipfler remembered their RTs. 'You have one,' said Misty, 'mine's gone. Ogobogo threw it at a tree and that was the end of that. Anyway, don't take yours out or he'll do the same with that. I expect he's afraid of it.'
Schnipfler managed to work his hands into his side pocket and manipulate the RT whilst the native wandered off into the sun.
'We're much too far away to raise Foreskin,' Misty sounded apathetic. 'There's no harm in hoping we'll alert someone nearby. Hell, we've sure got to try to get out of here. 'Have a go, buddy!'
Although it was about ten minutes, it seemed an hour before they heard a voice through the static. Schnipfler raised an eyebrow and flicked the transmit button. 'Mayday, Mayday, can anyone hear me?' he repeated.
'I copy, identify yourself and give location, what's the problem, over,' came the raucous voice. Misty's face lit up as he heard the man and leaned over to Schnipfler to speak into the RT, identifying himself and giving a brief description of their location. They had attracted the attention of a patrol vehicle on the reserve. 'Look, do any of you guys speak Ndebele? For God's sake get us out of this darned mess, some cannibal has trussed us up like a turkey - hell knows what he's going to do with us - we can't communicate.'
'OK, OK man, just hold on. I reckon we're about nine miles from you - there are two of us here and we both speak Ndebele and English - you're in luck. Be with you within the hour.'
'Hour? What are you driving, a turtle?' Misty wished he hadn't made that remark, after all he was in no position to be flippant. 'I'm sorry, forget that last remark; guess I didn't mean it. I'm going to switch off now before Man Friday comes back.'
'You do have a way with words,' Schnipfler croaked, 'we'll be lucky if they don't help this man to eat us.'
Covering the nine miles was no problem, it was finding the bound couple that took the time. Meanwhile the native returned with a wart hog, which he dumped on the ground. 'Well, that should dispel your fears of being eaten,' Schnipfler comforted. There was a big grin on the native's face as he proceeded to cut open the animal.
'Sh!' said Misty, 'Listen!'
'Voices!'
The native picked up the animal and hid himself amidst the foliage. If he'd seen them coming he would have fled far further afield at the sight of the ugly looking weapons they carried. Fortunately the two men soon found the captives. Schnipfler gave a quick account of who they were, what they were doing and how they came to be in their present predicament. The taller of the two started searching around and calling out something in Ndebele. 'I take it an interpreter wouldn't be unwelcome,' the smaller one spoke and couldn't help laughing at the sight of the two bound men. He withdrew a knife and relieved them of their fetters.
When the two rangers heard the full explanation, the taller man, who seemed to be in charge, was quite willing to loan them the use of the interpreter for as long as the visitors wanted for he was only too pleased to have someone rid them of the plague of poachers who had been such an evasive force that had eluded them for many months now.
The senior ranger took his leave, almost running into Man Friday. He waved his weapon at them and returned with him to the others. Now they could at least have a conversation that would be mutually beneficial.
It appeared that the native's name was Njoro, who believed that Schnipfler and Misty were associated with the poachers and the demise of his father who was head man of the village and had seen a white man and some Shona descend out of a noisy metallic bird with revolving wings as it disgorged its bowels. Over a period of three weeks they slaughtered every animal in sight. The place was alive one minute and then there was only the sound of the birds. One night, after tracking the men relentlessly for three weeks, Njoro's father stealthily slinked into the tents and stole their arsenal of hunting weapons and concealed them in the same spot where the two visitors had stashed their equipment.
The following morning, the hunt centred on human prey as they sought the perpetrator of the theft. They caught Njoro's father and tortured him to reveal where he had hidden their weapons. Njoro had tried to warn his parents of these men but it was too late - he watched helplessly as they were dragged to some rocks where they gouged out his mother's eyes, and then with a knife, started to peel the skin off her body like paring an apple. It was too much for Njoro's father - he told them where he had concealed their weapons - but that wasn't the end of it.
'Kill them both,' the white man commanded callously, whereupon they gashed their abdomens, leaving them to die a slow painful death. As the vultures swooped in, Njoro swore that he would avenge his parents and so he followed the white man and his giant Shona henchmen relentlessly. Then one day he couldn't believe his eyes.
As he hid behind a baobob tree, he saw the ground open up before his eyes and a truck, looking like a military vehicle with its camouflage, appeared out of the earth. Njoro shook with fear. These men were no ordinary poachers, and their business was far bigger than natives selling ivory and meat.
Senderai, the ranger, listened with interest and disbelief, his mouth falling open revealing his stubs of brown teeth. He remained transfixed throughout Njoro's story, hypnotised by the words of this young native. 'Where is the opening in the ground?' he asked eventually.
'I can only take you near to the spot, I can't pinpoint it because it is entirely concealed by living trees and scrub. I have searched for tell-tale marks but they have been swept away. I have seen no-one enter or leave since. The white man then left in his metal bird twelve days after he killed my parents. He did not kill them himself, he just stood there watching as he ordered his men to do it for him.'
Njoro was only too pleased to join the men himself to hunt down the perpetrators and was so happy that someone else was going to help him, at least he would get a chance to avenge his parents' horrific death now. Senderai considered it his duty to help these crusaders too and to act as their interpreter.
'We don't know what is kept underground, and we have no idea of the strength of these poachers, terrorists,' Misty corrected himself, ‘maybe it's a store for their ivory. We must therefore split up and take shifts. Njoro said he saw them come out of the ground. Schnipfler and Senderai, you take the day shifts and Njoro and I will take the night.'
Not wishing to advertise their presence, they did not light a fire and had to make do with cold food. With their numbers now doubled, they had to skimp even more on their rations, but the other ranger promised to return with more provisions within the next day or so. From their private arsenal, Misty selected a pistol to arm each of the Ndebele, whilst he and Schnipfler used their M16 machine rifles on their watch.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully until the night watch when Misty and Njoro found themselves in a rather embarrassing situation.
It was shortly after midnight that Misty and Njoro heard a dull rumbling sound. Njoro put his ear to the ground and signalled to Misty who was not ten feet away, to do likewise. The ground began to shake inexorably and then the two men found themselves being hoisted in the air. Both lay prostrate, well concealed, but they were utterly stranded. Misty was so anxious that he and Schnipfler each took charge of the respective shifts that he had forgotten he had allocated to himself the one person with whom he couldn't communicate. Fortunately they were not entirely devoid of communication as Misty managed to make himself understood by using hand signals.
There followed a sound of a regular beat as though the earth below were being pounded by some prehistoric monster. The noise grew louder when suddenly Misty realised what was happening. His eyes confirmed what he thought - a battalion of soldiers emerged from the bowels of the earth.


CHAPTER 5

Pui Phanit took one look at the gory digits and fled into the house screaming. In no time at all she gathered her belongings and left the house just as hastily.
Still sobbing she picked up the parcel, returned to the house and put it on the table in the kitchen and then made her way to her room. She needed to lie down for a while and think.
Her little room was painted a pale lotus colour with everything in the room to match so that no-one entering could fail to notice that this was a little girl’s room. The curtains were topped by a frilly palmate, whilst the rattan chair bore a fringe in the same material. The bed cover depicted a huge lotus blossom in the centre of a rose-tinted background bordered with lotus leaves. In the centre of the room was an old-fashioned fan reminiscent of such oriental establishments as Singapore's Raffles, which has retained its huge fan despite its forty-nine million pound face-lift and modernisation that included an arcade of some sixty shops.
It was the slowly rotating fan that caused her to stop in her tracks and let out an ear-piercing scream. Suspended from the fan and rotating slowly with it was her cat skewered from the throat to anus, drops of blood finding her lotus prayer mat, peppering it with deep red blotches. She fell on her bed and buried her face in her pillow, tears darkening its pallor. She wept convulsively then just as suddenly stopped, sat up and lent an ear to the movement she could hear downstairs. It could be the amah returning, she thought, her conscience must have prevailed upon her to venture downstairs. She called out, but there was no reply. Fear began to well up inside her again at the realisation of the horrific possibilities that could be awaiting her there: someone else was in the house. She looked around for something to help defend herself against attack should it be an intruder and perhaps the stranger might rape her too, but there was little of substance to hand in which to protect herself against any assailant.
Silently slipping into her bedroom she scoured around for a suitable weapon and then saw a small metal Buddha lying on the table in a narrow alcove. She weighed up the sacrilege against using such a figure for a weapon but decided her life was more important and so grabbed hold of it and made her way downstairs. 'I have a gun!' she called out hoping that whoever was there would flee quickly. Something caught her attention; there was movement reflected in the mirror. Then she saw the face with massive features set on a herculean body, almost like a sumo wrestler. A man that size should be slow, she thought, I could make a dash for it and maybe get away. Then he spoke in a quiet but firm voice as she recognised the uniform. ‘My name is Kasemsri,' he affirmed. How apt, she thought, he certainly looks like a mountain. 'The king himself has sent me to protect you - it came to his notice that you have a problem.' Am I glad he's on my side, she mused and then relaxed, lowering the Buddha to her side and tears of relief began to slide down her delicate cheeks as she related the recent events to him. Then she stiffened again and grasped the statue as something stirred at the back of her mind and started to trouble her. How could King Bhumibol possibly know of her plight?
'Now wait a minute,' she began, 'how could the king possibly know that I am in need of protection?' Then she reproached herself for being so open about her fear and recent events, but she was too late. The man struck like a leopard, clawing at her, snatching her up in his bear-like arms.
In her momentary fear, Pui contemplated the girth of this huge man. She now had ascertained in her mind that she was going to have to accommodate him in her petite body, exacerbating the fear as he held her firm with one arm whilst he removed the Buddha from her grip with the other. Imagine her disbelief as he suddenly relaxed his hold on her. 'I'm sorry, minister, but I really thought for a minute that you were going to attack me with this,' he apologised as he placed the ersatz weapon on a nearby chair. A smile blossomed on Pui's face.
'You really are the king's guard, then!' she exclaimed rhetorically.
'It was the police chief who contacted the palace and expressed his concern about you. The king has taken a personal interest.' The guard looked at the gory package and said, 'I'll get rid of this for you, minister,' and proceeded to dispose of the ugly mess. 'I....I... should be grateful if you would remove the ugly sight in my room too,' Pui requested pleadingly. The misunderstandings over, she told of her fear because she had informed the police about her missing family before she had received the instructions. 'They will make reparations in some way - they hold my family and there is nothing that either of us can do.'
'Do not fear, minister, the police have taken no action so it is unlikely that these criminals will know that you have contacted them.'
'I must go and prepare a room for you in which to sleep.'
'No, minister, I shall not sleep on duty. When night comes a colleague of mine will relieve me and I shall return again in the morning.'

Dan slept little that night and kept going over and over again the events of the day to see if he could deduce something from the tangle. Each time he thought of a solid fact he would write it down and tabulate the information with cross-references but there were too many insurmountable brick walls. He tried not to let his emotions dominate the essence of rationality he had managed to display. 'Why do they need to be in this country?' he asked himself, 'why couldn't they keep them in England?' There was a reason for this but he could not grasp it; he was sure he'd missed an important ingredient somewhere along the line. 'Perhaps they won't stop here but move on to another country. They're going to make sure we're all in Vienna together,' he surmised. 'That's it, it has to be - and they intend keeping a close watch on me all the way - but why such a team for a relatively small outcome? There has to be something else.' Then he realised that after their warnings he wouldn’t be expected to go to Vienna. It was too much of an enigma, even for his brilliant mind.
Unlike Garee, Dan was a person who needed a full eight hours of sleep or else he felt like a major dung heap the next day so it was not surprising that Garee found him to be lethargic the next morning. Fortunately he knew his friend well enough to know his idiosyncrasies and was quite tolerant of his frivolous behaviour. 'Don't worry, my friend, I only jest.' He wasn't one of those people who would try to disguise a serious dig in a cocoon of humour. How attitudes have changed since World War II when you knew who your enemies were most of the time, or at least where they were, and you could confront them. Nowadays it's all underhand guerrilla tactics, a sneaky car bomb or perhaps explosives concealed in a parcel. So too are the innuendoes that creep into family life, wedging husband and wife apart. Remarks made aloud by passers-by are made to stun the person at whom they are directed, but if you were to tackle the perpetrator, they would deny that the remarks were directed at them, ‘you must have a guilty conscience’ they would say. Such underhanded nastiness has even been known in British schools at Christmas time in establishments where an internal postal system had been set up to encourage pupils to send cards to each other and to staff in order to save the cost of postage. Some schools charge one pence a card for charity. It was an ideal opportunity for pupils opposed to authority or with any other kind of grudge - they used the system to abuse staff with unpleasant notes whilst remaining anonymous. How does one cope with this underhanded warfare? No-one could silence the IRA, ETA or other terrorist groups who were dab hands at such warfare – a couple of many such groups who continue to commit such atrocities. Undercover-agents infiltrating the corruptive system can only bring to light few at a time, that is if they have not had their cover blown beforehand. Garee had heard Dan voice all this on so many previous occasions, but what else could he say?
The continental breakfast stimulated Dan - a full glass of freshly squeezed orange, what luxury, he thought. I wonder why Clare doesn't do that. The coffee was black and strong which helped to bring a little life back into the inert body and befuddled head. 'Let's walk into the city, it might help awaken me,' he suggested. Just then the proprietor came up to him, 'Mr Tindale, there’s a telephone call for you.'
'For me? But no-one knows I'm here.'
'Dan Tindale? I am just ringing to remind you that we still hold your family, just in case you had the wrong impression when you saw them. They are all well and to prove it, I'm putting your wife on to tell you herself.'
'Dan? Dan, is that you darling? We're all right - just do as they ask - please, for the children's sake. We'll be on the Dussel.....,' then there was a click as the phone was put down the other end.
'Hello........hello..... Clare..... are you there?' Silence. 'Where are you? Hello..... Damn!' he cursed.
'Good news?' Garee asked afterwards.
'Only that Clare and the kids are all right. "Just do as they say," she said then she tried to tell me something - "we'll be in the Dussel..." then she was cut off. It's obvious that she was going to say Dusseldorf, but what else? Dusseldorf's directly east from here. Perhaps she's on the way there now.'
'Did you notice any background noises? Was the call from a box?' Garee asked.
'Not that I was aware of - no, I don't think so.'
'I think perhaps the keyword is "on",' Garee suggested.
'In that case it could be an autobahn - a means of transport perhaps. With the lack of background noise I'll plump for the latter. So what choices do we have?'
'Remember, you saw the children in a car, so it is unlikely that it will be a Dusseldorf flight or train and we're inland. Wait a minute now.... Dusseldorf's on the Rhine, there's a cruise line called the Dusseldorfer - a break in the journey perhaps to keep the children happy. What do you think?'
'Anything's worth a try - but why a Rhine trip - when? We could already be too late.'
Dan asked for a map of Germany as he settled the bill. 'It all depends when they board - if they board.'
They set off immediately having decided on a route to take them through Ghent, skirting Brussels and then on to Liege. They decided against Aachen and Koln – Koln, or Cologne, was too short a river trip so they made for Koblenz and then down to the U bend at Boppard.
'I reckon they'll continue on to Stuttgart and Munich en route for Vienna. If I were in their captors’ shoes I would rest up in some quiet spot,' Garee opined.
Garee suggested driving as he thought his friend might be somewhat reckless under the circumstances, but he certainly didn't hang around himself. A journey of around two hundred and fifty miles wasn't going to be covered in a morning. They might manage it by mid afternoon, all things being equal.
Brussels was a nightmare and reduced their headway. It was the first time Dan had visited the city and he was not at all impressed, it seemed such a mess. Dan navigated blindly, depending on road signs as he didn't have a detailed map of the city - however, he did make a good job of reading the road atlas of Europe he had to hand and was inwardly thankful he wasn't employed to draw up such maps himself. His mind was half on the family as Garee had rightly predicted so there was little conversation except silently with his Maker when they rounded a sharp bend on two wheels, sceptically wondering how God could possibly listen to silent conversation, especially when thousands of people call upon Him at once - unless of course each human being had a private line to a computer, but then if a computer can sort out an array of information in next to no time, then surely God who is mightier, can cope being so much more efficient than a computer? Faith can't be bad stuff after all, he mused, because he was still alive against all the odds of Garee's driving.
'How can we possibly know which boat they've boarded - IF they've boarded,' Dan corrected.
'There's no way of telling. Hopefully they will make a lengthy stop at Boppard which should give us plenty of time to nip on board and have a look for ourselves.'
'And how do we do that - an infinite supply of tickets? Anyway, the passengers may have all disembarked.'
'No doubt you will think of something when the time comes even if it means clearing everyone off - we could always create a bomb or fire alert.'
'We'll just have to play it by ear.'
'Difficult for a musician who can only play by music,' Garee joked, knowing Dan's ability as a performer when he had some music in front of him.
'Ha-ha, thanks very much! I reckon we'll be too late anyway.'
Fortunately the roads were dry so that there were less hazards than there would have otherwise been.
They arrived at Boppard ravenous, shortly after three thirty; parked their car alongside one of the many kiosks that line the west bank of the river and then they strolled along the water's edge, stopping at each landing stage to see if the sign read ‘Dusseldorfer’ or the times of arrivals.
'If they telephoned from Dusseldorf and boarded a Rhine cruiser within the hour, they won't be here yet a while,' Garee consoled, 'there are many stops on the way.'
They found one Dusseldorfer docked on the outskirts of Boppard but all the passengers had disembarked and were scattered around the town, some visiting the basilica, some souvenir hunting whilst others were content to stretch their legs and simply enjoy a stroll along the waterside. Some had stopped to watch a chess match in motion, played with large plastic pieces on a painted concrete board. A few had managed to seek out a game of curling. Others were restocking their reserve of films in preparation for the journey through the Rhine Gorge with its fairy-tale castles and Lorelei rocks. Travellers passing a little church on an eyot often wondered how people managed to get to church on Sundays; the mind always conjures up weird pictures of worshippers clad in their Sunday attire, rowing to the little church and either arriving with wet seats or being carried downstream by the current and missing the service altogether.
Garee wandered off to find some light refreshment for the two of them whilst Dan kept an eye on returning passengers, but to no avail. By four o'clock they were all on board and away. Then he saw them. They must have missed the boat. Now they seemed intent on something else, walking around town in the presence of two men who flanked them. 'For goodness sake hurry Garee or I'll just have to go after them on my own,' he said aloud, knowing he wouldn't hear him. Inwardly he knew there was little they could do other than follow them whilst these two guards were in attendance.
On his return, Dan put Garee in the picture and the two men started off after Dan's family keeping at a safe distance. They soon caught sight of them again. 'Maybe we'll learn something if we follow them - goodness only knows what, though,' Garee suggested, the food forgotten as they stalked the group.
Their pursuit took them to the chair-lift station where one man took the lead whilst the second appeared to guard the rear. Dan and Garee stepped up their pace and managed to secure seats a dozen or so behind them so that they could still keep them in view as they were swept above the ageing vines and within moments the panorama of the Rhineland was splayed out to the side of them with the famous loop in the river on the right.
The Boppard chair-lift seats are on a perpetual circuit so that arriving at the top, one has to release the safety bar and then gauge the right moment to leap off. The system is very workable but if an elderly or disabled person decides to get on, then a small flag is attached to the seat so that the attendant can see in advance and stop the system to enable the handicapped to be helped off before being set in motion again.
At the summit of the hill lies a restaurant set in a wood, but by the time Dan and Garee had jumped off, there was no sign of his family or their guards. Dan rushed off to the restaurant leaving Garee to use the fixed telescope, slipping in a mark and scanning the area underneath the chair-lift. He just caught a glimpse of Clare's coat in a small clearing used as an observation spot for sight-see-ers, just as Dan was reaching the door from the inside. 'Quickly - come on!' Garee urged, 'they've back-tracked and taken the path back down.'
By the time the breathless pair sighted them, neither of the guards could be seen, nevertheless they plodded on relentlessly but it was difficult to stay at a distance as the path snaked through trees and dropped rapidly which meant that they had to get closer to keep them in sight.
It was quite a while before it dawned on Dan Tindale that the men who appeared to be escorting his family were no longer there. Spurred on by this thought, he broke into a run, taking short steps so that there was no likelihood of his paces widening progressively, making him lose control and fall over himself. Close on their heels he yelled to them but they did not seem to hear. The two apparent guards leapt out at the weary pursuers and stood in front of them, blocking their path. There was a sudden lack of assertion as Garee and Dan found themselves looking into the barrels of a couple of Walthers. The thugs restrained them by grabbing hold of them from behind, gripping their arms and placing handcuffs on their wrists as they pulled their arms behind their backs. It was all done in a matter of three seconds, at the same time firing three shots at the fleeing family. The three fell to the ground. Dan cried out as he tried to wrestle himself free.
'Don't worry, we haven't killed them, more... er.. shall we say hindered them. They'll live - but this is just to show you that we hold all the aces - you see how easy it would be to kill them,' he went on, 'should you involve the police or feel like disregarding our directive to you about the congress.'
Dan and Garee were engulfed in the black hole as the two men clubbed them with the butt of their revolvers, unlocked their handcuffs and dragged them into the bedraggled vines that looked if they would never yield any fruit ever again.
Garee was the first to regain consciousness and set about reviving Dan. They sat quietly on the same spot until the haze had cleared from their heads and then they staggered on to the foot of the hill where they found a wooden seat, which they were only too glad to utilise.
'What I cannot understand,' Dan sounded a little tipsy, 'is how the hell they knew we would make for Boppard - there are so many places we could have decided on.'
'I've been wondering the same myself; I can only reiterate that either someone is keeping a very close eye on us or someone is very good at strategy,' Garee said, ‘but if you remember, it was you and I who guessed their route.’
Having established they were impotent to do anything positive at the moment to locate either Dan's family or the invisible enemy, they opted for a little relaxation. The first priority was to book into a hotel. They soon found a half-timbered building that had recently been extended. The extension was of a modern style but not out of keeping with the original, lying at the water's edge on the extremity of the town. They were greeted by a delightful Dutch proprietor and his smiling wife, who exuded just as much charm as their hotel oozed cleanliness and brightness. Nothing was too much trouble for these two Dutch exiles who had moved to Germany because of the onerous taxes in their own country. The east side of the building literally opened up onto the Rhine giving the impression of being aboard a boat without actually experiencing the undulation that causes sea sickness. The food too was in keeping with the rest of the place and could be taken at a table on a waterside patio if one was prepared to do battle with the clouds of midges that hovered overhead .It is strange that if you give negative thoughts to these midges, they sense that they are not wanted and will move away.
One amusing incident was no reflection on the management but more on modern-day workmanship, which is surprising in a country known for its quality of products and for sheer hard work. Whilst seated on the throne in the little boy's room, Dan suddenly found himself sliding arse first into the watery depths as the seat just cracked under his weight without prior warning. It may appear a highly amusing anecdote to tell a friend but it was exceedingly embarrassing to have to explain the apparent vandalism to the proprietor who, restraining laughter himself, apologised profusely - but this was only the catalyst in a series of mishaps. On changing channels after switching on the colour television set in their room, Dan found himself holding in his hand the component, which had detached itself from the set. He tried fixing it but without success. He became fearful of having to confront the management with yet another act of vandalism for he had hoped to repair the thing himself without further ado. The misfortunes did not stop there. As they were about to leave for dinner, the door handle came off in Garee's hand. This was enough to set Dan on a trip of hysteria, his maniacal laughter penetrating deep into the corridors of the hotel. They had to summon help eventually to bail them out of the room. Three acts of vandalism from the same occupants were too coincidental to be mere accidents. Mishaps, they say, come in threes - not so with these two mature Englishmen - the jinx struck yet again when trying to open the two-way window opening system which they had never encountered before - the result being that Dan stood with the complete window in his hands, calling Garee for immediate assistance lest he dropped it. Confronting the Dutchman yet again was more than Dan could take so he persuaded Garee to do his dirty work for him. Politicians are human after all, Garee decided.
Determined to relax the following day and get as far away from the place as possible, they decided to take a cruise down the river after hearing the weathermen forecast an imminent Indian summer. The idyllic journey provided an opportunity for some reflection and hopefully some inspiration too. There was plenty of the former as they once again wrote down all the events of their escapade but there was a marked dearth of the latter.
The extremity of the round trip was Rudesheim where they alighted and spent a pleasant afternoon exploring the town and indulging in some strong German lager which was on tap in all of the many Biergarten, each with its own personal sound of live music. Unfortunately they had not been aware of the earlier announcement over the boat's tannoy system before they left, announcing the time of the last sailing of the day - at which time they were suspended over vineyards in a cable car.
It took a few more drinks and a good deal of courage for Dan to phone up the Boppard hotel and explain why the two of them wouldn't be back for the night. 'No problem,' the Dutchman explained, 'just be at the jetty in an hour and I will pick you up.'
'Goodness only knows what he'll think of us British,' Dan commented.
'Albeit a Member of Parliament,' Garee added. 'Where but where back home would a hotel proprietor down tools and pick up two lost souls who are foolish enough to go gallivanting around without checking their return, especially after vandalising the hotel.'
Despite their efforts, they were unable to draw anything positive from their deliberations. Dan's trip had been ruined by his preoccupation with his family. He had seen them gunned down with his own eyes yet something didn't ring true but he could not put his finger on it. Garee could contribute very little to help. 'Where would they have been taken, do you think?' Dan asked, his thoughts miles away.
'Who?'
'Oh... sorry, I was expecting you to be tuned in to my thoughts, that's all. Clare and the children, I mean. They dare not take them to a hospital, they would have to be patched up somewhere, if only to stem the flow of.... Wait a minute, that's it. Don't you see? I knew there was something wrong, Garee, there was no blood - no traces - I didn't even see any stains on their clothes.'
'I doubt if you would have noticed even if there had been, the state you were in.'
'No. I'm absolutely sure.'
'Meaning?'
'I've no idea.'
'Great! Just great!' Dan had no way of knowing that it was all an act designed to scare the living daylights out of him. Blanks were fired at some actors borrowed to assimilate Dan’s family.
At the hotel a letter awaited Dan Tindale. He was fearful of opening it because only they could know of his whereabouts. 'YOU WILL HAVE BE NO FURTHER CONTACT WITH YOUR FAMILY UNTIL AFTER THE CONGRESS - THEY WILL BE RETURNED UNHARMED IF YOU KEEP AWAY FROM VIENNA.’
They were both resigned to the acceptance of the situation. There was no way they could get them back - not just the two of them on their own - but they were looking in the wrong direction.

Misty Foggle had missed the tiny paragraph in the paper, which stated that Sven Olafsen, the Norwegian minister for the environment, was in hospital after a skiing accident. His condition was said to be serious. Had he seen it he would have known that this was no accident.







CHAPTER 6

The Phoenix Group, a subsidiary of Interterr, terrorists who believed their actions would eventually resurrect an Utopian world out of the ashes of imperialism and communism, had not, as yet, infiltrated Norway, so they delegated a Swiss by the name of Kurt Langer to the task of ’taking out’ Sven Olafsen. A staunch campaigner, Olafsen's first aim in government was to tackle the problem of acid rain, which was eating away at their forests of firs. Meticulous in everything he tackled, Olafsen's efforts had resulted in a reduction of the country's pollution; he had already slowed down the destruction of nature. He was a tough liner and had fought hard to get others to follow his country's example, which, in the long run, would also benefit Norway.
With this project well in hand, he turned to preserving the many species of the animal kingdom, fighting to stop scientists experimenting with animals and to this end he found himself at odds with the coastal populous whose living depended on whaling in the Norwegian Sea.
At the age of nine, Olafsen was with a group of his peers one night when they grabbed hold of a cat and stuffed a lit firework in its mouth. As the cat exploded, he was physically sick after which he attacked the perpetrator who happened to be his closest friend - he hammered him, sending him home with two black eyes amidst many other bruises to his body, swearing that if he ever so much as looked at another animal, he would kill him. It wasn't his nature to be violent and the whole incident upset him for some time to come. He burdened himself with his friend's actions and swore he would work his way to a position where he would be able to defend creatures who were unable to tell of their suffering. Unfortunately there were too many members of the government who were indifferent and there were some who were openly opposed to him but Olafsen's personality always managed to dilute the strength of any adversity and he came out whiter than white.
Kurt Langer liked to get to know his victims so that he could predict their actions and reactions, seek out their weaknesses and make a mental note of their strengths too. He was an experienced and talented skier, having once beaten Franz Klammer in a downhill race at Wengen. It was for his acumen in this field that the Phoenix Group had chosen him for this particular task. He would have made an excellent private detective were he to defect to the other side. He was thorough in his research and enquiries, so it was no surprise that he found himself dining at the same table as the environment minister in his favourite restaurant in Oslo. They each took an instant liking to the other and so the seed of friendship was sown, but in Langer's case it was with a view to fulfilling his mission. Olafsen would not have been the first victim that Langer had respected or even liked, but he never let his emotions deter him in any way, neither would he ever let himself be caught off guard at any time but outwardly he would always exude an air of affability.
Langer was never out of place in Olafsen's company because he was a well-educated man and able to converse about almost any topic but he always kept himself in reserve so that he would not be seen to express any strong views on controversial subjects. He knew only very little Norwegian so they conversed in German which Olafsen spoke almost as well as his native tongue. There was little Langer had to guard against for he was a schoolteacher so to all intents and purposes he was a bona fide citizen. He had become a reactionary in his late teens - sick of the Swiss obsession with work and money, or was it money and work, to the exclusion of all else and at the expense of freedom and happiness - freedom from the monetary prison in which so many of his countrymen were trapped - happiness, the ability to relax and joke without being en haut. He had studied communism and observed it in practice - fear and oppression. All these ideals are great on paper, but like all systems, become corrupt as soon as the human element is applied so that the original concept would become abused and distorted beyond recognition. There had to be a middle way, a less complicated life, almost back to basics, but preserving all that is cultural - then who is going to enforce such a Utopian society and see that it isn't corrupted - it is the enforcer who becomes corrupt - they start to amass riches for themselves and become as Ceaucescu, the Romanian dictator. The Phoenix Group were convinced that the evil of the capitalist and communist societies had to be eliminated before a decent society could grow out of the ashes - but in trying to implement their ideals, they became criminals of the worst order - terrorists. The there are those who interfere ion every country, carefully and corruptly planting their own men into power. They ask for terrorists to strike; it is entirely their own fault just as other countries provoke their enemies into taking terrorist action. The world knows nothing of what goes on behind the scenes and what corruption lies behind many a political motive. Those who fear the Russians and the Eastern political system are looking the wrong way.
In order to obtain first-hand information of communism on the one hand and the decadent West on the other, Langer arranged school exchanges with his senior pupils so that he would travel with them to Russia, Romania and America, taking a class of mature students for a period of three weeks. On returning he would ask each group to write up their observations and experiences and then give each of them a questionnaire to obtain answers not already volunteered.
Teaching in a ‘neutral’ country had its advantages; it was easier to arrange exchanges without too many eyebrows being raised - in many other countries the authorities were reluctant to let their pupils embark on such a 'dangerous' scheme. Having collated the information over a period of years, it only confirmed what he had already surmised. To satisfy himself that he was going to work for the right cause in joining Phoenix he spent vacations in the third world countries trying to establish the political reason for their demise - he avoided third world countries that had become so because of natural disasters. So many countries had been given help but the money had often been diverted and the poor suffering indigents continued to live in poverty and suffer disease.
His second meeting with Olafsen was pre-arranged mutually so that they were able to get together in the minister's city flat he used during the week, his family house being at Koenigsberg, some seventy kilometres west of the capital. Although he kept a cook come housekeeper, he often prepared a meal himself when entertaining guests - that is when time permitted. By the time they had drunk a linjeakevitt, a national spirit allowed to mellow by travelling to Australia and back in oak barrels, the meal was ready. Olafsen excused himself whilst he put the finishing touches to his culinary acumen, leaving Langer to contemplate some of the minister's art collection.
The dining room and kitchen were one room separated by a wide pine bar that served as a working surface. The dining area was entirely panelled with a dark pine except for the ceiling which was painted in a Prussian blue from which hung a pendant copper light that hovered not more than two feet above the surface of the table with its four matching chairs and thickly upholstered chintz seats. The only other lights were inlaid into the wood panelled walls, effecting a suffused floodlight. A pale blue fitted carpet soaked up the table in its soft shag pile and a little bar was built into a narrow recess in one corner of the room. There was little else that could distract a business conversation. A window only two feet in height, ran along the full length of the top of one of the walls so that no visitor could let his gaze stray beyond the limits of the room - ideal for a working meal.
The aroma of the main course was sufficient to bring a strong man like Langer to his knees as he tried in vain to conjure up images of the food, which he knew would satisfy his enquiring and now noisy stomach. He continually committed his victim's taste and expertise to his cold and calculating computer of a brain. 'What a shame,' he thought, 'to have to rid the world of such a talented and likeable being as this man - he would be a great asset on our side, but alas there would be no more chance of turning him than flying Concorde backwards, anyway it isn't part of my brief.' Now he couldn't wait for his unsuspecting prey to remove the lids from the dishes. If he had the heart, this would be one sure way of getting to it, but he was a cold soulless being. As yet he was no nearer establishing what method he would employ to get rid of Olafsen but it was early days yet - nevertheless, he couldn't wait too long as his instructions were to take him out within ten days.
The more they talked the more they grew to like each other, however Olafsen couldn't help but feel that there was something about this Swiss that didn't ring true but then perhaps he was misjudging him.
'Jaegersgulasch,' Olafsen announced as he lifted the first lid and pushed the steaming dish towards his guest. 'I've no need to translate, I'm sure.'
'I live in the French sector of Switzerland. I know, you may well ask how my German is so good. I haven't always lived in the southwest, I was brought up in a little village on the German border; my French is passable but not perfect. I believe that most European countries have a hunters' dish of a sort,' he added returning to the food.
'A recipe of my own, especially for cold nights, I hope you will enjoy it.'
'Then it's no use asking what's in it then, most cooks like to guard the secrets of their own recipes.'
'That's true, but I will tell you that the meat is pork - I hope you have no objection to eating pig's meat?'
'No religious, medical, environmental reason or personal fad; in fact I love pork. I must say, minister, I'm surprised that you are not a vegetarian with such ....' he was going to say 'strong feelings on the slaughter of animals,' but checked himself as Olafsen hadn't yet brought up the topic. Anyway it was a controversial and sensitive field he should avoid and wondered if this man was really sincere in his beliefs. Then he decided to carry on his sentence with a watered-down version of what he was going to say in the first place. 'I believe that animals were put on the earth for man to eat,' he realised after he had said it that this was not watered down but even more bold, and then wondered what sort of a response this remark would conjecture.
'It is always difficult to know where to draw the line. We mustn't let a species become extinct, neither should we let them multiply to the extent of becoming a threat. If we kill for food, it must be within a pre-ordered plan and it must be carried out humanely and painlessly. I do not believe in killing for killing's sake - trophies and the like - nor for greed in the likes of skins, tusks and so on.'
A clever and well thought out reply, the wiseacre, Langer mused but he was bordering a forbidden zone. 'A threat to what?' he queried.
'Overcrowding the earth to the extent of not being properly nourished, neither should the more ferocious become a threat to mankind. As it is, most deaths from animals usually occur because of man's stupidity or pure carelessness.'
'I have to concede that I agree with you.'
'At least these colder countries are not laced with ‘nasties’, so there are advantages of living in such places, not least for sport. I for one am an ardent skier - the one luxury I afford myself away from the family,’ the minister went on, ‘though I do take them with me on occasions. If I need time to think I then spirit myself away into the mountains - there's nothing like it for relaxing the mind and releasing pent-up frustration. It keeps the body trim too.'
'What kind of skiing?'
'If I'm with the family we usually do a spot of cross country, but on my own I tend to be a little more adventurous and do some down-hill. I've even given Schussing a try - that's even faster, as you know, it follows the fall line.'
Whilst they were talking, a plan was beginning to form in Langer's mind - skiing would give him the ideal opportunity to arrange an accident - if only he could persuade the minister to invite him to join him.
Little more was said about skiing that night and the conversation swung to the country's administration. The recent death of King Olaf V was foremost in his mind for this old monarch of the Land of the Midnight Sun was very much a people's king, revered by other nations as much as by his own people. 'He reigned for almost 34 years and was related to the British queen, you know. The Norwegian monarch is automatically head of the armed forces in this country and of the nation's Evangelical Lutheran Church, who must essentially be a male. In contrast,' Olafsen went on, 'our Prime Minister is female with a husband who strangely enough is an active member of the opposition Conservative party. I owe my position to her as she is the expert on the country's environment, chairing the UN's World Commission on Environment and Development - a commission of some twenty-two countries. Because of her commitments as Prime Minister and ever increasing family demands, she appointed me to cope with the escalating problems of international importance - so here I am!' Olafsen excused himself as he cleared the table and returned with a bowl of fresh Multer, or cloudberries, which he served with whipped cream.
In sharp contrast to the dining room, Olafsen's living room was focussed on the picture window, which looked out onto a tree-pocked lawn bordered by a mixture of shrubs and hardy perennials. To the side of the window in one corner of the room stood a Boesendorfer grand piano in a highly polished mahogany.
The meal over, Langer was completely taken aback as Olafsen sat himself at the instrument and blossomed forth into the opening bars of Grieg's A Minor Piano Concerto. He suddenly stopped as though ashamed of his performance and apologised, 'Sorry, very rude of me, I tend to resort to this beauty after a meal - I have an unending love affair with the instrument. Do you like music?'
'Don't apologise on my behalf, you were doing your national composer no dishonour - he would have been proud of you. Play something else please.' Olafsen went one further and after a few bars of introduction burst forth into song, displaying an obviously well trained light tenor voice. Purcell's 'Dido's Lament' permeated the Swiss teacher's bones, intensifying his reluctance to harm this incredible man. He quite expected him to stand on his head and perform some fantastic magic for his next trick. He tried hard to find something in him to dislike but absolutely nothing was forthcoming.
Langer was no desperado, and genuinely wished he could return the minister's hospitality. 'If I lived here I would invite you to a meal but even then I could not offer you such wonderful entertainment. The best I can do is to take you out for one instead, with the proviso,' and the next line he found hard to deliver, 'that you dine with me at my home if you will find time to visit Switzerland.' Then as an addendum, 'I can find you plenty of places to ski.' He felt an utter hypocrite, but wasn't this part and parcel of the job?
'I would very much like to take you up on that offer. Shortly I have to attend a congress in Vienna and so I could make a point of breaking my journey.'
'An excellent idea - better still, if you can allow yourself a few extra days,' he added automatically without thinking and then he inwardly reproached himself for letting his feelings take control of him. Such folly could jeopardise his entire mission. He wondered if there were any means of turning this man who would make an ideal leader in his new world.
'Perhaps before then you might like to accompany me to the Gausta mountain where I have a chalet. I shall be going there in two days' time, for about five days. I need time for some study and preparation - with a little skiing of course. On the other hand you may find it boring, or should I say find me boring.'
Langer lit up at the suggestion. 'It is most kind of you. That would suit me fine, I don't have to be back in Switzerland for another ten days.'
Time, place, method outlined, it just required the finer details. Maybe he could go out and find the exact location whilst he's studying, he thought as he felt the adrenalin pumping into him, giving him a feeling not far short of sexual pleasure.
Langer was essentially a bachelor - not that he disliked women's company, on the contrary, he seized upon any opportunity that presented itself, but because of his professions both as a school teacher and as a hatchet man for the Phoenix Group, he considered it immoral to commit some poor young lover to a life as a grass widow, though he never considered it immoral to kill for the cause.
What a world this is, he would often murmur to himself, as he considered the atrocities of life, which had convinced him there could not possibly be a God. If we could tot up the sum of years of the lives of all the priests and monks and other servants of God over the centuries, what a criminal waste of life there has been if there is no God, he mused.
His school experience showed that the clever and willing pupils were frequently elbowed out of the way, the weaker become rebels in the long run but the strong willed more often than not turned out to be the most desirable characters and the pillars of society.
For years Langer could not establish whether man should accept his lot and ply himself to the best of his ability or whether he should try to right all the wrongs. It is easier to accept and live a peaceful life than to be a crusader who has to fight for a better world and then perhaps lose his life before he has the chance to reap the fruits of his labours - he chose the latter but then he frequently questioned himself over his decision. Meeting such people as Olafsen had once again raised doubts as to the merits of being a crusader - there would always be reactionaries in every society, come what may. Adolf Hitler and Saddam Hussein never changed the world but they earned themselves a place in history for their atrocities - through these two men, hundreds of thousands of people died unnecessarily – and there were others, too numerous to name. Atrocities are needless, futile and unending - Vietnam, Korea, Cambodia, Ireland, South Africa, Libya, Uganda, El Salvador, Argentina, Afghanistan - the list is endless; children shot on the streets of Brazil. Is life no longer precious, he wondered. Life is cheap in the third world - it is to these people and other poor and oppressed that the Phoenix Group dedicated its existence.
To doubt is to weaken, to weaken is to fail. Langer pulled himself together sharply. He began to wonder what Olafsen's wife was like and whether his children would inherit any of their father's talent and character - it was strong but compassionate, so seldom found in men or even women of high-ranking office. One doesn't have to hate one's victim, but it helps in this game - if only this man could be persuaded to join Phoenix - to stay alive if nothing else, but to broach the subject would disclose his interest in the man and sooner or later his intentions would be identified.
Olafsen's mountain home was a single storied pinewood building, which consisted of a living room, two small bedrooms, a kitchenette and a bathroom. There was no electricity so lighting and cooking were by courtesy of a calor gas bottle. Only the bare essentials for a short stay adorned the cabin but the minimum facilities were adequate to ensure that guests were comfortable. It didn't take the men many minutes to achieve their first objective - to get a good fire roaring away to dry out the ambient dampness, then they cleaned up the place before unpacking. Had Oalfsen had any inkling as to the contents of his guest's suitcase he would have turned to jelly instantly.
'You're the one who has work to do so it would make sense if I were to be mother and do the cooking and household chores,' Langer suggested.
'That's most kind of you but I don't expect my guests to work. Let's compromise - you cook and I'll clean.' That way they would keep out of each other's way when not on the slopes. 'What do you say to testing the snow?'
'I'd like nothing better - just give me a half hour to do some food preparation and I'll be with you.'
Olafsen returned to the car and took out his lap top computer and settled himself down to some work whilst Langer busied himself in the kitchen.
Cumulous clouds mantled the slopes but there were no signs of anything falling. The fir trees looked like a solemn army on guard duty as they stood to attention in greeting when the two men took to the piste. Snow had not fallen in the past week but the last flakes to fall were wet and now lay compacted on an already solid foundation.
Despite the two men's love of skiing, the aim of the break was to relax and give the minister time to think so the going was leisurely for the first day then they returned to the cabin after ninety minutes.
The following morning beckoned the men out onto the slopes where a cheery sun greeted them, encouraging them to exert a little more energy taking a fair faster pace and venturing further a field than the previous afternoon. There was little chance for conversation, which enabled Olafsen to ruminate about his project he was going to embark on after lunch.
Langer was keen to stretch Olafsen to capacity to test how good he was when put under pressure. The minister was obviously accustomed to these pistes and was confident he could outski the Swiss who had challenged him to a race. 'I accept your challenge,' he smiled, 'and I'll give you a five second start as you are strange to these mountains.' A professional would normally have deemed this an insult but Langer was beginning to read his opponent now and knew that it was the minister's sense of fairness that had prompted the concession. In skiing, five seconds is an eternity when competitors' results are graded and packed into hundredths of a second. Olafsen designated the course and depicted a cluster of trees in the distance as the finishing line. Before Olafsen blinked, the Swiss was over the brow and lost to sight. The result would depend how each of them tackled the small jumps, the Norwegian surmised, and he had sufficient confidence in himself to know he would gain some time in this field, hopefully making up the greater part of the other man's head start.
Olafsen adopted an aerodynamic tuck, taking the twists and bends tightly to gain the extra hundredths of a second by covering less ground. On the straight he could now see the Swiss ahead of him and gauged that he had reduced the lead by two seconds, but there was still a good deal of leeway to make up. He noticed that Langer had skied some of the brows he should have jumped. On the next bend he almost regretted cutting so much of it as he almost lost his ski - the experience cost him a full second and he swore under his breath - he wasn't to know that Langer had misread the bend; it was far more severe than he had anticipated, as he too decided to gain a little ground by taking the bends tightly, but he swung to the left in counterbalancing and overcompensated, finding it difficult to maintain his balance. A tree suddenly loomed up at him - he slowed himself almost to a halt to put himself back on course, the danger now being past. Olafsen smiled to himself as he saw what the Swiss had done; he was almost on him now.
Back on a straight now the two men were battling it out in earnest, neck and neck as they veered first to the left and then to the right, both jumping and landing together. They had covered two thirds of the course with neither man giving any hint as to who was going to pull ahead. Olafsen had warned Langer of the lip which was now lying ahead of them - Langer had it sighted and remembered the Norwegian's warning - here was the chance to gain that extra split second if he could execute the jump in the fashion he taught his pupils back home in Switzerland. He was certain that Olafsen had told him to vere to the right on landing, but he wasn't certain - was it left then right, or was it vice versa? He decided it was to the right and his mistake cost both men dearly as their skis touched and both men awkwardly wrapped around each other - the two offending skis falling away on their own.
As soon as their skis had touched, Langer knew he had made the wrong decision. If Olafsen has broken something there would be no more skiing and his mission would be ruined through his own stupidity. A man with his mental agility and training should never have forgotten an instruction - but he had been too wrapped up in his plans at the time - Olafsen could have been mistaken and deliberately given him the wrong turn but he immediately dismissed that idea because it was not in the minister's character to behave like that, anyway he knew the piste well and he had no reason to give him the wrong instruction deliberately.
They were both fortunate to be able to pick themselves up, grateful that neither of them had broken anything but they knew that the bruises they sustained would make themselves apparent later.
Langer planned on an exploratory trip in the afternoon whilst the minister worked because he was suffering the effects of the fall more than the Swiss. This really signalled a rest but with his own mission in mind and because his discomfort was a result of his slackness, he decided to punish himself and force himself to go out and finalise his plan.
The following day, Olafsen was too sore to ski and so he insisted on staying indoors despite protests from the Swiss. 'Just because I'm not going it shouldn't stop you,' the minister said, 'just let me know which piste you intend to take and roughly how long you intend to be out so that I know where to look for you if you don't return.'
'You don't have much confidence in me do you, my friend, still I can't blame you from what you've seen of my performance so far.'
'There's been a fall of snow overnight - you know very well that the whole of the mountain will look different when you get out there and you are not familiar with the Gausta.'
Langer conceded the point and told the minister which direction he was heading and when to be expected back, giving himself ample time to deal with the evening meal. He prepared a sandwich lunch for the two of them and took a Pils for himself.
'I'll be off then - you should be able to have a good long peaceful spell to get on with your work. I expect to hear you have finished your Strasbourg speech by the time I return.' He smiled semi-sincerely and with that he picked up his skis and was gone. Without looking u,p Olafsen grunted acknowledgement as he prodded at the computer keys.
Without realising it, Langer was already two hours overdue. The light was beginning to fail which prompted Olafsen to look at his watch and then peer out of the window - it was snowing heavily. 'Damned Swiss!' he cursed, 'they think they know everything.' Under normal circumstances he would not venture onto the slopes in such heavy snow, or even in fading light for that matter. 'Damn the man,' he swore again as he began to regret inviting him.
Perhaps he's taken shelter in another cabin, he thought as he contemplated going out to look for him. He's a grown man and an experienced skier - so he says. He took comfort in his own assumption and decided it was sheer folly to go out to search for him. If he's had an accident he'll be covered in snow and I wouldn't be able to find him anyway - if he's not back by the time the storm's over I'll go out and search. He then set about preparing middag himself in the absence of the chef.
The downfall had eased to a few flakes wafting in and out of the trees in the ululating wind, giving a luminosity to the wraith-like trees that stood out against the thinning clouds, slowly being penetrated by the refulgence of the moon. Another quarter hour and I'll go out and look for him, he kept on deferring the chore to give himself time to finish the meal preparation and put it on the gas. At least one of them was going to appreciate a hot soup before very long. As he lifted the concoction onto the ring the door opened, a flurry of freshly driven snow accompanied the white form that turned around and shook itself clear of the crystals like a dog after a swim, leaned the skis against the door and uttered profound apologies.
'Another ten minutes and I would have been out looking for you - the snow was too heavy to go earlier.'
'I'm glad you didn't, it would have been very foolish. I was down in the northern valley when it started and I lay up in the first chalet where I saw a light - some people by the name of Vrethammer - a very pleasant couple from Bergen - the trouble was our limited communication - the only common language was English and we knew very little of that - however, we managed.'
I don't know them - there are so many comings and goings - the chalets are let out part of the year and their owners take residence themselves at other times. At least you are safe, thank goodness. We can eat shortly; I've done the honours tonight - nothing spectacular but ideal for a cold night.'
The two men exchanged anecdotes over a few Pils that evening and the intended early night stretched until one in the morning when the minister finally excused himself because of his excessive work the next day. He hoped that he could include some skiing as well now that the soreness was wearing off.
As dawn unfolded his sleep, Langer lay back on his bed contemplating the scene - this was the day for the hit and everything depended on precise timing. He went over the whole scenario several times in his mind so that there could be no mistake. He had brought an assortment of weapons but he could discount most of them as this essentially had to look like an accident.
The next morning passed quietly with Olafsen starting on his speech for the Viennese congress and Langer cleaning the cabin and preparing food - open sandwiches for lunch again to please the minister and there must be evidence that the two intended dining together that night to dispel any doubts in the minds of the suspicious.
During the course of the morning, a plethora of diversely coloured skiers etched decussate wheals in the virgin snow which had formed a frosted crust like the outer coating of a huge peppermint cream. The hills were alive with shouting and the general hubbub of fun, but Olafsen was buried in his speech oblivious to the sporting activities and merriment outside. No-one had ventured to the slope Langer had selected for the afternoon's ski - it was a challenging course that only the very best would attempt - and the fruition of his lethal skulduggery. For Langer to be engaged in such malice seemed so out of place; just like a straight-laced BBC Radio 3 news presenter finishing his delivery on a cold night with: 'Now you can get yourself some cocoa and biccies and snuggle around the fire as I wish you a very good night.'
The stage was set.
Few could be seen in the theatre of the slopes as the two men set off to their starting point, using their skis to enjoy a little cross country en route before embarking upon the downhill spurt that Langer had arranged.
'Stop there!' Langer shouted, 'that's where we start,' and then he proceeded to run to catch up the minister, bumping into him with sufficient force to topple him.
Olafsen didn't feel the hair-fine needle carefully fitted into the Swiss man's glove penetrate his side as it punctured the skin and emptied the contents of the liquid into the minister's veins. The Swiss apologised profusely once again for bumping into him, at the same time making a mental note of the countdown so that the poison would start to take effect at precisely the right moment. He had estimated his victim's weight, which he balanced with his present physical being as the adrenalin pumped into each of the two men simultaneously.
'I'll go first,' said Langer who was dressed in a psychedelic red ski suit with yellow stripes. To any unseen voyeurs, it would be witnessed that he couldn't possibly have pushed the minister, as he was in front of him. Olafsen, clad in his two-tone blue ski-suit allowed the Phoenix agent a mere five seconds start. This was one section of the mountain he had never skied, he preferred to keep the Swiss in sight rather than follow his tracks. He was beginning to experience an odd sensation, so he shook his head as though fighting off an unpleasant insect and then launched himself forth into the white opaque.
The course he was following was steep with sharp twists. This was not a race so he could afford himself a little more room on the bends. His eyes were growing mistier and he found that his concentration was weakening; nevertheless, he had reached a good ninety miles an hour by now and then came upon a sharp turn to the left. The white bank of snow on the bend appeared as a mere white blur then his senses began to orbit. He mounted the bank and took off to find himself floating in space unable to make out anything but a misty grey ahead of him - he had no idea that he was falling two hundred feet - then all went black.
Langer was certain that the minister had taken a dive now as he himself straightened up after a ninety-degree turn to the right. He afforded himself a quick glance - he had to be certain. Indeed he timed it perfectly he thought as he saw the blue figure leap over the bluff, but his own concentration lapsed momentarily, a split second but just enough to make him stop the tree that was fast accelerating towards him. There was no way he could avert the certainty and finality of the collision. His helmet may have saved his head from being pulverised but it was little protection from the concussing blow that his whole body suffered along the length of a pine. He fell in a heap of smashed bones - one of his ribs pierced his heart.
Olafsen, the one who was supposed to meet with a fatality, was fortunate because his fall was broken by a combination of a thicket of thinly stemmed shrubs and of soft snow, thus cheating death. It was a full two hours before help reached him. A party of skiers on the opposite slope noticed a blue object protruding out of the snow. One of them took out a pair of binoculars. Seeing that it was obviously someone who had come to grief she quickly sent the other skiers on their way to summon help. Mountain Rescue was alerted and within minutes, Olafsen was being taken aboard a helicopter.
There was nothing to suggest that the minister had suffered anything but an accident. He was unable to remember anything after the initial thrust at the start of the slope. The headlines in the Norwegian press had outlined the double tragedy. Langer had later been identified and many questions were being asked as to how a professional skier could have possibly met with such demise in what were described as good skiing conditions. The minister had not seen the paper and was unaware of the other man's accident.
Those in the upper echelons of the Phoenix Group were satisfied that Olafsen could not possibly present them a problem; from all accounts he wasn't likely to be in a fit condition to attend the Viennese congress if he lived at all, and the man most likely to deputise for him was no threat as he was not really interested in the topics, he was quite prepared to keep the coastal community in business to boost his popularity. There was no need for the Phoenix Group to send in another man to finish off the job that Langer had all but succeeded in doing. There were other countries, which were sufficiently laid back and so the Phoenix Group didn't deem it necessary to interfere.





CHAPTER 7

Father Strom Jorgensen had just reached his half century three days before the incident involving Olafsen and Langer appeared in the daily newspaper. Before entering the priesthood in his late thirties, the priest was a government agent, during which time he had encountered Langer who, at the time, worked as a free-lance assassin whilst holding a teaching post in a British school in Switzerland. Seeing the Swiss's photograph triggered alarm bells at the back of his mind, but he was a long way from the scene, living within the Arctic Circle.
Tromso is the world's most northern city, lying two hundred and fifteen miles inside the Arctic Circle, where the sun never sets in the summer and never rises in the cold bleak winters. Once in eleven years, the Northern Lights can be seen when the phenomenon of energetic particles entering the earth's magnetosphere, peaks and presents a spectacular display, which plays poltergeist-like havoc with electrical devices that are operated by remote control.
The absence of the sun presents physical and psychological problems during the morketidon, or murky period, when the number of suicides in the area suddenly soars. In this city, which for just one month was Norway's capital, a pastor becomes overworked during the morketidon, helping to lessen the depression, battling with a city which has become labelled 'North of the Moral Circle' or even 'Paris of the North' because of its high birth rate and concentration of sexual diseases. morketidon has been blamed for sexual deviation and low morals, compensating for the SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, which beleaguers the local populous. Ancient people even believed Tromso to be the edge of the world.

Fr Jorgensen had just been counselling a young man suffering from SAD. 'I find I cannot physically smile,' the young man complained, 'I try, but the muscles just won't respond, then my whole body feels as though it's pulling down. I am not old, Father, and yet I no longer feel young. I should be effervescing with life. I have tried to apply my faith but I then see the futility of it all. What are we heading for? We reproduce, we educate our children who slave away to make a living when they grow up. Then there is free time - but why are we wanting to get rid of time when we should be enjoying every moment of it, is it because we are bored, or is it we want death to come and free us from our bonds? There is a French saying about the more things change, the more they stay the same. Can there be a God who just wants us on earth to kowtow to Him? Is He that vain?'
Fr Jorgensen realised that this man had spent much time looking for answers to important questions about life before giving serious consideration to taking his own life.
'Whilst life unfurls repetitively, the earth continues to revolve so that there is more progress within a slow continuity, do you get what I mean?' The young man looked puzzled. 'The overall picture is that man is learning, advancing, all the time but unless you are God who sees the overall picture, rather like an architect looking over his model, it is difficult for an individual so small as yourself to see this in perspective. Look at the vast progress in technology - in war, for example - compare the surgical precision of the technology installed in the Stealth F117A bombers, invisible to radar, an eerily silent machine that can put a laser-guided bomb down the chimney of a house or through a sky-light. Could you imagine journalists reporting back the progress of the war to television in Hitler’s time? Medicine has reached the heights never before believed possible – surgeons able to separate Siamese twins so that at least one of them has a good chance of survival - heart and liver transplants, altering genes to change the course of nature, not that I believe everything is good. I for one do not condone virgin births - apart from the fact that it is interfering with nature, it is going to create the problems of one-parent families that we are suffering at present - and now they are talking about cloning humans - you say that we are standing still? Surely our purpose on earth is to enjoy what we have been given, and in return we must give of our own efforts and of ourselves, even if it is such a small thing as making a little patch of wasteland into a beautiful garden.'
'Then someone comes along and turns it all into a dung heap again.'
'Dung fertilises the land my son and so it is not necessarily returned to the wasteland it was. Furthermore, whilst it was a beautiful garden, did it not give pleasure? Consider yourself - how many incapacitated people would give their all to have a perfectly normal healthy body like yours that you want to throw on the rubbish dump?'
'Forgive me Father, but without the sun there is no light in my life, I cannot see; I cannot tell the difference between night and day.'
'Yes, dognvill, that's what they call it I believe. It is not always easy to see ahead clearly, even when the sun is shining there are often lofty mountains or forests that block it out, so we have to be prepared for these occasions. You have a lovely wife and children - can you not think of them, how they would be without you? They need you, my son.'
'What good is a glum husband and a nagging father?'
'Do you think that you are the only person who feels like this?' He recalled a nurse who had told him that once a person was set on suicide, nothing would deter them. They may defer the day, she said, but they will succeed in the end. But Strom Jorgensen was not a fatalist, he was sure he could channel this man's resolve.
'Get your coat, my friend and let's take a walk,' the priest urged.
They ventured down to the harbour square where the priest drew the young man's attention to the statue of Roald Amundsen, the explorer, who discovered the South Pole in 1928. 'There is a man who lived in much the same way as yourself but his resolve to come to terms with nature was intransigent.'
'Man can do something like that, perhaps write books and their name lives on for ever but how can an insignificant man like me leave his mark on the world? Even pop stars come and go, comedians and sportsmen have their heydays even though many of them have severe personal tragedies that the world does not always hear about – however, their fame is forgotten after a couple of generations.'
'Precisely! The wheels continue to turn and we must each do our bit to keep them turning - producing children in itself is a good enough reason for your being on earth, we are only but temporary custodians of this marvellous planet like a passing cloud.' The young man wanted to take that further but decided against it, knowing the priest to be married only to the Church.
They both stared out to sea in the grey of the afternoon, each deep in thought, the priest trying to fathom the depths of his parishioner's mind, the young man mulling over the priest's words and trying to put them into some sort of order.
‘To put your problems in perspective will not be resolved in a matter of a single chat with you, it will take time; you must come and see me at my home regularly for further counselling sessions. Meanwhile I will come and see your family in your house from time to time and try to sort things out at their end. I can just hear your children asking why their daddy isn't there and your wife searching for excuses to pacify them, trying to save your face, trying hard to take your place if you go ahead with this crazy idea of yours to take your own life. Of course, you can take the alternative way out, you could move out of the area – I know, it would be difficult for you but you may have to take such a drastic measure in order to save the whole family.'
Tears began to flood the man's eyes as he personified the priest's words. Of course the priest is right, he thought, but I am so hopeless – I am a huge coward.
'When we are young we expect our parents and teachers to encourage us but there comes an age when we become the inspiration for others.' The priest hesitated. 'So you haven't the guts to go through with it then?' he asked in a more sympathetic tone.
'Not that way.'
'How then? Cut your wrists, put your head in the oven? I thought you were wanting a pleasant way out, looking forward to death but you know very well that the Church cannot possibly support you in such action that is alien to our belief.'
'There are ways - an overdose and I won’t know anything about it.'
'Until someone finds you and your stomach is pumped out in hospital. You wake up and then you will believe you are a failure, a gutless failure, you can't even kill yourself. Then you will feel far, far worse, my son, believe me, or, on the other hand your body may live but your mind could become a vegetable unable to think or even communicate with your loved ones.'
The two continued walking now that the man had bitten at the worm but he had a long way to go before he felt that he could save the man's life to the extent of his not wanting to make any further attempts at some later time. Yes indeed, it would take a long time and a lot of courage and perseverance.
‘Here’s a seat, just let me show you something,’ the priest suggested. As they sat down the cleric took out a notepad from his pocket. ‘Just think back to the moment you decided you wanted to end it all - go on, close your eyes and relive the moment. What were your thoughts at the time, what was your inner mind telling you?’
‘I’m a failure, there’s nothing to live for, there is nothing left in life, I’m a burden to others, everyone is against me, I have no energy, I resent others.’
‘OK, stop there. I’ve written them down. Let’s take each of these points one at a time. Let’s start with I am a failure. Did you fail to produce children?’
‘No.’
‘Have you really and honestly been a complete failure at work?’
‘No.’
‘Have you failed to provide for yourself or your family?’
‘No.’
‘So it’s not really true that you are a failure is it?’
‘No.’ The priest wrote down false against the man’s first statement.
By the time the priest had gone over all the points in a similar way he looked at the young man and said, ‘So, all this time your mind has been telling you lies and you didn’t realise it. So what is there left to be depressed about? Now that you know you have been listening to lies, the next stage is to ask yourself what positive steps you are going to take. First of all you have to forgive yourself for your resentment then you should feel free to become positive, more assertive.
'I rarely confide my own personal problems with others, but I feel that there are occasions when it is necessary - all lives are precious. Yes, even yours. Perhaps when you hear a little of me, you will be able to see your own life in perspective and respect yourself in a way you have never appreciated before.
'Before entering the priesthood I was in a position of trust, serving and protecting this multi-directional nation of ours. I believed, and still believe, that it is worth protecting. I had to lead a celibate life in order to protect my job. I was too susceptible to blackmail but even under microscopic scrutiny I could not be compromised. In order to conceal my own sexual leaning I had to flirt with girls and be seen to be in their company, but it was purgatory for me, inwardly there bloomed a sadness, which stemmed from hidden roots. I too questioned life, wondered why I was made so that I could not have children of my own. The lineage would stop with me - I have no brothers or sisters. It is a hard cross to bear, believe me, my son, I would cry myself to sleep on many a night because I had as much need to love and be loved as anyone else and my soul cried out for it. I felt I had been cheated, denied. My life was soulless, empty and so I concentrated my life into my work to smother my inner feelings until eventually they became numb. I never once blamed God - I more sought his help in containing my problem. I left the service and decided to become God's servant - if I could contain my desires all those years then I knew I could do so always. The yearning for human comfort is still there but it is only quite feeble now. So you see, my son, I am envious of you - yes, of you. You who can love freely and be loved in return too. What is worse and more shameful is that my own faith in a creator, a God whom I have served for years, I am now beginning to question – yes, me, a priest, becoming agnostic.'
'But you needn't have shut yourself away in the Church, you could have been yourself and taken another job. It's accepted in so many circles now. You have punished yourself unnecessarily.'
'That's as may be but I know I couldn't have sustained a happy relationship and would have condemned my soul into orbit, just searching and never finding. I couldn’t take that.'
'But you haven't lived, Father, you have only existed and yet you talked a few moments ago about being put on the earth to enjoy it.'
'I have gained immense joy from mending other lost souls - it is a more lasting and satisfactory pleasure. It would be hard to prove that to you or even to convince you by relating a few of the more desperate cases I have encountered as a priest, but as you know I could never divulge anyone's name and so I shall make no effort to convince you. If you now think that you can still be of this world, I should naturally respect your confidence - I do not tell everyone these things, in fact it has only been on the very exceptional occasion when all else has failed that I have confessed to my past.'
'You must have considered I was a pretty hopeless case then?'
'Only you will be able to answer that, my son.'
'Thank you Father, you have lifted a great weight from me. I must leave you now and buy presents for my family for there is much to celebrate and much to look forward to. I will remember you in my prayers, that I promise.' With that he bade farewell to the priest.
Fr Jorgensen returned home and picked up the paper - it was then that he read of the skiing disaster. He had to get to the minister and tell him that it was no accident.

Sven Olafsen was indeed a very lucky man for not only had he cheated death but his injuries were only superficial - it appeared he had not suffered any internal damage. The initial blow from the fall had caused concussion and only little of his body had escaped with minor cuts and bruises, the only broken bones were a couple of ribs and his left arm.
'I hurried from Tromso when I read the account of your accident in the paper,' the priest said after introducing himself. 'You see, minister, I was a government agent before entering the priesthood and I still know the identity of many assassins. Your so-called friend met his comeuppance. Oh yes, he was a school teacher all right - and a skiing instructor too. He most probably told you the truth about himself - he just omitted one small fact - that he was a professional assassin and a member of a very well trained and organised terrorist group.'
'Was?' queried the minister.
'Ironically it was he who met with a fatal accident. God was truly on the side of the righteous.'
Olafsen tried hard to remember the events of the day. 'He wasn't near me when this happened, as far as I can recollect - it must have been an accident. In fact, he was ahead of me on the slope, I lost sight of him as my eyes blurred.' Here he stopped and appeared to stare into the past. 'Now come to think of it I became dizzy and I couldn't see clearly.'
'Drugged, I guess, but I wonder how he administered it so that it would take effect at the right moment.'
'He usually prepared the food - that could have been a possibility.'
'No, no... that would be too risky. Did you walk far to the slope?'
'Langer suggested some cross country first.'
'Then there must have been some sort of contact.'
'I remember very little I'm afraid.'
'No matter - the important thing now is to establish his motive. The important fact is that he had attached himself to some terrorist group - the name eludes me at the moment. Maybe it will come to me later.'
'He wanted me out of action obviously by the sound of what you say, - but why? I can't think of anything of sufficient importance to merit this sort of action.'
I should appreciate it if you would tell me of any engagements you have planned for the near future.'
The minister outlined the two events. The priest went to the window and stared out through his thoughts, not seeing what was outside, only a quick mental scan.
'I think it is more than likely the latter,’ he decided, ‘but I can't think why unless it's money for their coffers.'
He was silent for a while and then turned to Olafsen, 'I remember now, it was the Phoenix Group he was associated with - one of those factions with their heads in the clouds.'
'I can't say I've heard of them.'
'Look, it's essential you get yourself better and attend the conference. If Phoenix get any inkling that you are well enough to go ahead, they will certainly send someone in to finish off the job. I ask a favour of you, minister.'
'I hardly think that I'm in a position to do anything for you at the moment.'
'It's nothing like that. I want to accompany you - for your own protection. I was going to suggest a total news blackout or even an article in the national press stating that your condition is now critical and it is doubtful you will recover - but that doesn't help us get to the root of the problem - I would like, with your permission sir, to flush them out and so it would mean a truthful report of your condition - but that would be more dangerous.'
'I'm prepared to accept that - if I'm in a position to go, that is.'
'In fact I would like to go one stage further - a telephone call will excuse me duties in Tromso. I think you need protection right away and I would like to provide you with that - if you trust me.'
'Thank you, Father, but there's no need to go to so much trouble on my behalf.'

Now that the British minister had passed beyond Belgium, Fox could call upon Jacques Lemans to finish off the job Kurt Langer had set out to fulfil. Lemans was a hard man by any standards and tended to act on the spur of the moment which made him unpredictable and all the more dangerous, more likely to make mistakes. He was free, and was the nearest member of the group to the present situation in Oslo. It was essential that he took out Olafsen before he left the hospital - if it could not be made to look like an accident, too bad - as long as he covered his tracks. Another failure and a photo in the paper would raise too many questions in the wrong places.
Lemans had handled the Belgium phase well and had affected a smooth hand-over to the Germans in the case of the British minister but now success in Olso would depend on acting before Olafsen left hospital.

The next day saw a change in the minister's condition as he relapsed into unconsciousness, once more causing much concern to the hospital staff. The priest was not allowed to see him but he was fortunate enough in being given accommodation in the hospital from where he could see the entrance to the minister's ward.
It was suspected that a clot on the brain was the cause of the relapse but an emergency scan failed to confirm this. It was later revealed that it was a recurrence of the concussion suffered from the blow. Fr Jorgensen made it his business to make a list of everyone who entered the minister's ward, taking note of their descriptions but staff would be hard to recognise if they wore a face mask, so he devised a means of overcoming the problem. He put the idea to the staff who agreed to stick psychedelic patches on the heels of the shoes and again on the chest pocket of all those visiting Olafsen's ward.
The ploy paid off. The following afternoon, Lemans ensconced himself amongst the scurrying visitors. He enquired about the location of Sven Olafsen. The nurse was new to the hospital and was only too willing to divulge his whereabouts. The minister was still heavily sedated after recovering consciousness the previous night and so Lemans was told that Olafsen was not able to receive any visitors. 'I would very much like to send him a little something to help speed his recovery,' he told the nurse, 'to which ward shall I address it?'
Seeing no harm in a seemingly innocuous request, the naive nurse unwittingly gave the terrorist the information he wanted. He located the ward and set about finding himself a suitable spot where he could bide his time. It took him all of two minutes to discover a walk-in cleaners' cupboard from where he could observe any to-ing and fro-ing. He needed to purloin garments that would render him beyond suspicion.
Time passed slowly as visitors came and went but he noticed that no-one had been allowed to enter the minister's ward. The corridors were quiet once again. He had to move fast when the opportunity arose.
Nearly three hours after he had secreted himself in the cupboard, he heard a slight movement in the distance - a trolley with a squeaky wheel. Opening the door just a crack he could afford himself a view of the greater part of the corridor and saw a male nurse pushing a treatment trolley. The squeaking ceased as the nurse called at a ward, then the sound occurred again and drew closer. Progress was slow as the nurse wended his way nearer to the stranger.
Lemans waited until the trolley had passed his hideout and launched himself out of the cupboard as though he had been fired from a cannon clasped his hand over the nurse's mouth and drove home the hypodermic with his free hand. There was no-one else in sight so he dragged the body into the cupboard and hastily removed the man's overall, not bothering to bind or gag him - there was no time for that - anyway, he should be miles away by the time the nurse regained his senses.
What Lemans failed to notice was that someone else was keeping a wary eye on that sector of the hospital. Leaving his door slightly ajar, the priest heard the squeak of the trolley near the minister's ward and peered through the crack in the doorway. All was well, he was wearing the identification on his white overall, so he closed the door quietly. The minister's door was visible through the keyhole and as an afterthought Fr Jorgensen decided to double check - the whole purpose of the two identification strips, just in case some-one decided to swap clothes. An assailant would be unlikely to exchange shoes, hence no reason for the stickers on the back. Mr Average would never notice. The adrenalin started pumping as the priest uttered an expletive unbecoming of a man of his vocation. There were no identification strips on the man's shoes.
Lemans left the trolley to the side of the minister's door and picked from it a selection of pills and a hypodermic - there was no time to check the bottles for the correct capsules in case there was someone on guard the other side of the door. He eased open the door, taking in the scene - no-one else in attendance and the minister sleeping fitfully. Excellent, he thought, makes the job that much easier.
Lemans entered the man's room, the priest didn't have a weapon - he had to act fast. Lemans removed one of the pillows and placed it on Olafsen's face, pressing down with enormous force so that the minister had no chance of fighting him off should he awake. In fact he was awake all the time - he had shut his eyes to rest them but still feeling the effects of the drugs from the previous day he wasn't yet fully alert. Impotent - quite unable to scream, unable to breathe, he thought of the priest who had visited him earlier, or was it the same day, he had no idea of time. Perhaps the priest was not still in the hospital - even if he had stayed, his suspicions may not have been aroused anyway. It would take a strong person to remove this behemoth.
Olafsen felt the pressure on the pillow slacken momentarily. He could hear a dull sound - perhaps there was somebody in the room trying to pull this monster off him. Whoever it was appeared to be unsuccessful as the pressure was on again. The minister tried not to panic; he prayed that the end wouldn't come this way.
Fr Jorgensen was pulling with all his might, hands around the assailant's throat but it made no impression, the Belgian hung on knowing it would only be a matter of seconds before he had accomplished his mission - anything after that didn't matter. Terrorists had become fanatical to the extent of sacrificing their own lives to meet the ends of their cause.
In desperation the priest ran out of the room and grabbed the first hypodermic he saw on the trolley, filled it with a nearby white liquid and tore back into the room. Anything was worth a try - with luck he might even manage an air bubble. He leapt at the Belgian, plunging the needle to its full length into the man's neck, pushing until the phial was spent.
The Belgian panicked, not knowing what was going to happen to him. 'I give you just twenty seconds before you start to feel dizzy,' the priest bluffed. Then Lemans released the pressure on the pillow and fled out of the room trying to wrench the protruding length of the hypodermic from him. Would he make the stairs - he would more than likely collapse before he reached the bottom he thought so he steadied himself on the supporting rail. His neck was throbbing but whatever was in the syringe did not seem to be taking effect yet. He was still fully alert and able to escape, not knowing that he had been pumped full of penicillin.
Strom Jorgensen hastily removed the pillow from the minister and pressed the emergency bell. The staff were very much on their mettle as two nurses appeared on the scene within moments. The priest was economical with his explanation as a further stampede of staff materialised to assist the tensile nurses struggling to attach an oxygen mask to Olafsen.
Now that the incident had become widely known, there was no way that it could be kept from the police who insisted on posting a twenty-four hour guard outside the minister's room. Olafsen's strong constitution helped him withstand the attack, coupled with swift action and expertise from the medical staff. Neither the minister nor the priest acknowledged the attack to be connected with terrorists, but each knew that this would not be the last they would hear from the Phoenix Group. -


CHAPTER 8

Being suspended twenty feet in the air without a rope had isolated Misty and Njoro but this state of impotence didn't last long. They found themselves gradually being lowered back to earth on a hidden hydraulic system. Njoro tore his shirt and tied a piece around an upper branch of an acacia tree then a further section around a lower branch, both out of sight to the casual passer-by but at least they would be able to locate the spot again.
'Well, I suppose that means they won't be coming back in a hurry,' Misty said as Njoro stared at him blankly; the soldier had momentarily forgotten that the native couldn't understand him.
They lost no time in waking the other two and then equipped themselves with some of their weaponry and ammunition. 'Quickly now,' Misty ordered, 'we need to catch them up and see what's going on.'
Njoro led the way, carving out a path of least resistance so that there was no likelihood of running into anything solid.
Within the half hour they had caught up with the soldiers - they had to find out what they were up to. Wending their way to the assembled body they concealed themselves in some scrub within earshot. Schnipfler was audibly out of breath. Misty motioned him to stifle the sound, which carried alarmingly in the night air and could well be detected by the nearest soldiers.
The massive Ndebele who had terrorised the Foreskins stood on one of the armoured trucks and addressed the assemblage, which could not have numbered more than a hundred all told.
'If this is executed swiftly and with precision, no-one need get hurt - a bloodless coup is what we aim at. The television and radio stations and Parliament House will be in our control well before dawn but much depends on those of you who are responsible for capturing the ministers in their respective homes. Again I urge you to show restraint and respect - there will be no looting neither will there be any raping.'
'He's one to talk,' Misty muttered to himself. ‘Hypocrite!’
'Violence is to be used only as a last resort. Once you have your allocated family under house arrest you are to report the fact to me. The president comes here. Use only the minimum of words: the code word for a minister and confirmation of his arrest, you say that the numbered area is "secure". Those travelling by road will leave in ten minutes' time - helicopters in eighty minutes.'
Senderai translated for Misty and told him of their plans. Misty waited for the cover of general movement before making a start, then the four sped away out of earshot.
'It's a bloody coup - we've got to alert Harare right away. Senderai, get through to that man of yours and tell him what's happening. He must inform the president right away, then get on to Foreskin and tell him we are on our way to pick him up.'
'This I didn't expect,' Schnipfler sighed, 'What are we going to do?'
'Senderai,' Misty called, ignoring Schnipfler's question, 'get on to your man again, I want a helicopter here within the hour, by which time we should be able to make the water hole we saw as we flew in; we shall be out of earshot, hopefully.'
Returning to their repository in the rock cleft, they retrieved their equipment and moved off, Senderai and Njoro leading the way.
Misty turned at the sound of a disturbed bird behind them. Someone was following them. He had no idea of telling if those following had realised how many of them there were, so he took no chance. 'Senderai, quickly explain to Njoro that I want him to set an ambush with me.' Njoro insisted it would be preferable to take this man single-handed. Reluctantly Misty consented.
As the three set off, Njoro melted into the surroundings immediately becoming part of the night but with attentive eyes, watching and waiting.
The soldier was good, a trained tracker - a scout of value to his company no doubt. There was no sound as he stealthily stalked his victims. Njoro had to weigh up whether the soldier would be missed in the next hour - and whether they would send any more out after him. He doubted if anyone would come looking for him before they were well on their way, but for safety he ought to let him stray a little further away from his company before making a strike. Then he noticed the man was gaining on them at an alarming rate so he had to be dealt with right away.
Njoro offloaded his backpack, took out a knife and shadowed the soldier, increasing his pace but the man sensed his presence and swung around, pistol in hand.
As Njoro saw the movement, he dived and rolled to the side in one as bullets burst through the space where he was standing only a second beforehand. Now he was at a disadvantage - he had been unearthed and he had ditched his guns.
The other three heard the shots and knew that they weren’t from Njoro - it wasn't his style to shoot the person he was tracking, especially at night - it was far too noisy.
However, he had youth and agility on his side. The others back-tracked thinking that Njoro could have fallen victim to the gunfire. The soldier then sprayed the undergrowth with his machine pistol where he had seen the youngster roll. This at least told the others that Njoro had survived the first burst. Njoro was far too quick for him and circled around, running into Misty who thrust his weapon into the native's hand but he brushed it away, signalling for him to get out of the way, and then he was gone, shadowing the soldier who went to investigate whether he had scored but the young Njoro flung himself at the soldier who crumpled up, firing his machine pistol wildly, scattering roosting birds, two of which dropped to the ground as the stray bullets found flesh and bone. Njoro wasted no time and flung himself at the flailing body, cruelly turning the knife as he pulled it out, tearing the flesh and then he thrust it into the soldier's neck. He dragged the body into some skeletal shrubs and covered it with leaves.
The other three waited at the ready in case they were needed, bracing their rifles as they heard footsteps advancing towards them. They relaxed as they saw Njoro's face light up into a beaming grin, his white teeth psychedelic against the darkness of the night.
'I wonder if he found us by accident or if someone else had sent him after us?' Schnipfler queried.
'Whatever, after all that noise we've got to get the hell out of here as quickly as we can,' urged Misty.
The helicopter pilot felt uneasy at having to wait for his passengers who had been delayed through no fault of their own. 'I don't like it,' the pilot complained to the uniformed man behind him, 'anyone can come running out of the scrub, a whole army, and we wouldn't stand a hope in hell.'
The soldier was not troubled at the pilot's concern and shrugged off the remark, confident that only the right people would turn up - and before very long.
Sure enough his unspoken reply confirmed his thoughts as first Senderai then the other three materialised out of the night, all breaking into a run as they saw the chopper which coughed into life as soon as the pilot caught sight of the Ranger.
At first the four men hadn't noticed the figure in the shadows behind the pilot and they were momentarily startled at hearing his voice.
'Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Colonel Lobengula. You had trouble on the way? I heard some shooting.' He was a man of very few words which hadn't gone unnoticed.
It was Senderai who replied and explained the reason for their delay. The colonel just nodded acknowledgement as his mind veered in another direction.
Misty placed himself next to the pilot and lost no time in issuing instructions, which angered the colonel. 'This is a military matter and so the pilot takes his orders from me,' Lobengula snarled.
'With due respect,' Misty retorted, 'we are the ones who requested the transport in the first place - we are guests of Minister Pieter Foreskin, we must get to him as soon as possible.'
'There's no need to worry about the president. My men will take good care of him, they have been instructed to take him to a hide-out where he will be well protected. I have also ordered my best men to the capital. They are well armed, Mr Foggle.' Misty was taken aback at the use of his name. 'The television and radio stations are at this moment as we speak, a hive of activity - this terrorist group will not stand a chance. I gather you yourself are going to take care of Parliament House. The respective buildings have all been evacuated and an impenetrable defence set up within them.
Schnipfler was impressed with the cool efficiency of the man and just hoped that he was not becoming over confident. The sagacious soldier had already eyed their bulky equipment as they off-loaded it into the helicopter. Schnipfler wondered whether they would be arrested when it all blew over. At least he had accepted them to a certain degree by letting them take charge of Parliament House - he most probably received orders from Foreskin anyway.
The pilot lost no time in finding the Foreskins’ ranch and put down near the old burnt-out farmhouse.
A bleary-eyed minister was rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he answered the door. He had returned to bed after receiving the call. There was a marked expression of surprise at seeing Colonel Lobengula with Misty although he had been forewarned about having to evacuate.
The colonel confirmed the situation and urged the minister to grab a few essentials and abandon the place as soon as he could. 'Mr Foggle will take you to a place of safety, minister. I shall leave you shortly but you will be told as soon as it is safe for you to return.'
By the time Foreskin was ready, Njoro had picked up the sound of an approaching helicopter whilst he waited at the door of their own chopper. He ran to the colonel. 'Yes, I had heard it myself - it's too late,' Lobengula conceded, 'they'll spot us as soon as we take off.'
Misty wanted to take charge and had to choke back orders in the presence of Colonel Lobengula, but the man knew his job as he took the words directly out of Misty's mouth. 'Weapons?' he asked indicating the bulk the men dragged on board. 'Grab all your equipment! All of you, out of the helicopter and follow me!'
The uniformed colonel led them to the nearest cover hoping that they hadn't been seen.
The approaching soldiers seemed confused - the farmhouse only a partial shell and uninhabitable, a helicopter near the smaller house. They were ruthless and left nothing to chance. A flash in the sky indicated they had released a rocket. One minute the helicopter was standing there like a roosting bird, the next it had exploded in a conflagration of pyrotechnics. As Misty struggled to assemble his rocket launcher, Tom's house, where the minister had been staying, disintegrated amidst the two hundred foot fireball that now engulfed the remains.
'Well there goes our only hope of escape,' Misty exclaimed to no-one in particular.
'Wait!' shouted Lobengula. 'I need that chopper. You!' he pointed to Schnipfler, 'Give the minister an automatic rifle and stay here with him.' He gave the others their instructions and waited. 'I too would have liked to see their machine blown out of the sky.'
'If they believe they've succeeded in their mission they won't land. Either that or a whole pack of them will burst out before their machine touches the ground.'
'Well - if they don't land then you'll have to blast them. If not, then we follow the plan we discussed.'
A feeling of relief and gratitude beset the colonel whilst Misty felt a tinge of disappointment as the gyrating machine began to descend.
Misty took up position on the port side of the machine, rocket launcher on his shoulder. Njoro was at his side once again with his machine pistol.
On the starboard side the colonel and Senderai stood guard to mow down any who disembarked that side. The problem would be the pilot - he would just as likely take off and make a break for it as soon as he hears shooting.
The rotors had created a dust storm forcing the alighting terrorists to throw up an arm in protection, so they were not immediately aware of the reception that awaited them. Colonel Lobengula wasted no time when he realised there was no-one alighting from the starboard side of the machine; he rushed to the cockpit and pointed his submachine gun at the pilot, motioning him to get out. The sound of the welcoming machine-fire from the other side had decided the issue for him so he climbed out without switching off. He was the sole survivor.
'OK!' shouted the colonel, 'get the equipment on board. Senderai - go get the minister and Schnipfler.'
Njoro covered the pilot while Misty took the controls; he didn't dare risk the pilot flying it with them aboard, even with a gun at his head; he could easily let the machine drop out of the sky if he thought his life were threatened.
They put down Lobengula in a field on the outskirts of the city where some of his men had already assembled, then they flew on to what was always known as Cecil Square, now called Harare Square, landing near the Harare Club.
The square was silent apart from the gentle splashing of the fountain amidst the ghostly forms of the flame trees. On approaching, Misty had noticed the flat roof of the Harare Club library from where there was a splendid view of Parliament House. There was no time to deploy men inside the building; he hurled a grappling iron onto the roof of the library in hopes that it would latch itself onto something solid. His second attempt was successful. He and Njoro scaled the building whilst Senderai and Schnipfler attached rocket launchers and machine pistols onto the rope, which Njoro hauled up after him.
In another area of the town, Lobengula's men were busy establishing themselves in the television and radio buildings, which are always prime targets in an attempted coup. They set up a defence for the land attack, which was expected any moment.
Schnipfler untied the terrorists' helicopter pilot and with Senderai's gun trained on him, persuaded him to fly the machine and conceal it in the Harare club courtyard in readiness for a quick getaway.
The odd sleepy face appeared briefly between curtains in the Meikles Hotel and seeing nothing out of the usual, retired back to bed only to reappear at the chorus of approaching low-flying helicopters.
Pieter Foreskin took refuge in the Deanery, which was sandwiched between the cathedral and Parliament House.
The task of eliminating the terrorists would be made so much more difficult if their men were put down and allowed to dissipate. Misty's plan was simple - the helicopters had to be blown out of the night air. He just hoped he didn't find himself blowing up Lobengula's troops, but this area was supposed to be left to him. It might just be that Lobengula didn't have sufficient confidence in Misty and perhaps send in a few troops to help out. Too bad - no time to study sentiment.
'Well here goes,' Misty said as he rested the rocket launcher on his shoulder and aimed at the first chopper. He made signs for Njoro to do likewise and take out the second.
The night sky erupted as the two machines exploded into huge balls of fire on their approach to the government building.
'Good God!' yelled the pilot of the third helicopter as he swung his machine around 180 degrees in panic to avoid the holocaust and the descending debris - in so doing he caught his rotors on the ensuing machine causing them both to plunge through the roof of the cathedral and explode in the nave.
Foreskin had taken refuge in the deanery and had briefed the cathedral dignitary about what was going on. The Dean had no idea what was going on and so wasn't prepared for the resulting explosion nor more especially the demolition of his cathedral.
'We have to get in there,' Foreskin urged.
'But what if some of them have survived? They would gun us down on sight,' complained the scared cleric.
'I doubt very much if they have but I have this just in case,' he said indicating his machine pistol. 'We must get the front door opened and the fire service and ambulance here immediately, otherwise you will have no cathedral left at all.'
It was difficult to estimate whether the dean was more concerned about the people who had crashed through his roof or about the cathedral building, but his expression of sheer resignation turned to one of horror as they surveyed the scene. The heat from the burning wreckage held them back. At first they hadn't noticed the body that had been thrown clear of the wreckage but then Foreskin heard the groans emanating from the left somewhere amidst the chairs. He tugged at the dean's arm and together they hurried towards the survivor - those who hadn't died from the crash had been burnt to death. Foreskin saw the huge black figure twisted in an incredible position, a metal shard protruding from his abdomen. The minister's stomach did a fast spin as he recognised his children's assailant. For a moment something inside him wanted to let this man suffer cruelly. He was now dressed in a blood-soaked general's uniform with a gold phoenix on his brown dislodged beret. The dean noticed the minister's recognition momentarily and was frozen into immobility. For the first time in his life he didn't know what to do next. 'We dare not move him, he's in a bad way,' the cleric murmured.
Despite the man's hopeless condition, his eyes registered recognition as Pieter Foreskin leaned over him. He knew how the minister must be feeling and now he wanted to be put out of his misery - a single bullet would do it - his lips feebly formed a plea for help as he tried to extend his arm to give substance to his cry. Foreskin wondered, no, knew, what the man would do if their roles had been reversed, and was secretly tempted to do the same, but instead he turned to the dean and asked, 'Did you phone for an ambulance?'
The question was answered by the sound of sirens wailing as both ambulance and fire-fighting teams arrived simultaneously, two ambulance men bearing a stretcher, were waved forward by the dean. 'He's alive, but only just, he's in a bad way,' the cleric shouted.
Meanwhile the firemen pushed their way in with their equipment and proceeded to douse the flames with some sort of foam. As the fire died down there was a giant creaking followed by a splintering sound as a further section of the roof collapsed, pinning one of the firemen to the ground.
The first paramedic from the ambulance gave the terrorist general a shot of morphine and then abandoned him in favour of the newly injured fireman. The trapped man's colleagues managed to lift away the beam that had pinned him down but it was obvious that the man's back was broken. The medical men managed to ease him onto a stretcher as their second vehicle arrived on the scene. A quick word and the new team ran straight to the black general but they found he was no longer breathing.
There were many badly charred bodies in and around the wreckage of the two machines - the fire chief had counted fifteen but it was difficult to be certain at this stage. The general had been flying in a Scorpion helicopter with just his aide and the pilot, whereas the other bodies were those of a backup team of terrorists aiming to take control of Parliament House.
The firemen eventually brought the blaze under control. The dean could be seen converting the damage into the cost in numerous figures. It was surprising that the only things to catch fire in the building were some of the chairs and fallen rafters. There was a certain amount of smoke damage but little else had been affected surprisingly enough. The roof was the expensive item and the gaping hole precluded using the building for worship in the foreseeable future.
Certain that they had prevented any take-over of Parliament House, Misty's team joined the others at the cathedral. The activity had brought people out of their beds, some with coats over their nightwear, flocking to the building, staring in at the unholy intrusion but they could not advance very far because they were held back by police.
'Minister Foreskin?' an officer enquired, and when he noticed Foreskin's nod, drew closer and said, 'I'm afraid I have some bad news for you sir.' The minister thought at least he was in the right place for a quick prayer and made the sign of the cross as he asked his maker to ensure that his family were all right. – ‘The President has been kidnapped.'
'But I thought....'
'I know. He was well guarded but these fellows came in the People's Army uniforms. The others believing them to be their own men, let them in and legged it.'
Misty was unable to hear the conversation but he could see from Foreskin's expression that it was bad news. He soon learnt of the kidnapping and turned to the other three and said, 'We believe we know where they will take him. I doubt if we can get there before him but it's worth a try - we'll let Lobengula know what's happening once we are airborne.'
Their mistake was assuming that the terrorists had failed in their attempted coup. Lobengula's men had already destroyed the helicopter attack on the television and radio stations with as much success, if not more than Misty's team, because they hadn't damaged any buildings in their efforts, but he deployed his men in readiness for the land assault which he knew would come - something Misty had overlooked at his end. As Njoro was climbing back onto the roof to retrieve their hardware, truck loads of terrorists appeared simultaneously from each corner of the square, their carbines flaring haphazardly. Schnipfler and Misty managed to get to the Harare Club's ladies' entrance but Senderai took a bullet in the chest and fell instantly. Fortunately they had already ensured the ladies’ entrance was open for quick access to the courtyard in case of emergency. Misty and Schnipfler each picked up a machine pistol from the helicopter and made their way upstairs to the library.
'There goes our interpreter,' Schnipfler said laconically. 'We could do with some uniforms but the way Njoro's going with that rocket launcher, there's no chance of salvaging anything.'
They found their way up to the library, knocking out window panes with the butts of their pistols. 'Keep me covered!' Misty shouted as he saw the rope still dangling in front of a window, which he promptly smashed and climbed his way to the flat roof, to Njoro, motioning him to stop firing. They both lowered themselves down into the library, rocket launcher slung across their backs. Schnipfler was busy firing at the remaining trucks. 'We need the uniforms,' Misty shouted. 'I'll go and get the chopper and put down in the square - see if you can salvage some once you've quietened that lot over there.'
After a few more bursts they decided to leave using a longer way - no use presenting the opposition with a sitting target. It was as well. By the time they were halfway downstairs there was an almighty report as the library was wiped out by a terrorist’s rocket. They didn't stop to look but quickly hid themselves behind the wall of the entrance as debris flew in all directions.
Njoro had spotted the launcher as he jinked across the road taking cover behind one of the trees in the square. He took his own launcher in hand, loaded and fired. Schnipfler sought the haven of another tree - Verdammt - only one more left; our last chance for uniforms, he cursed. He motioned to Njoro to put away his launcher and only use his machine pistol.
The terrorists in the remaining truck weren't over keen to remain in their vehicle after seeing the plight of the others so they scattered around the square, some taking advantage of the cover of the odd tree. There were just two of them against a dozen or more terrorists; the odds were well stacked against them, Schnipfler thought. Njoro went walkabouts on his jungle-stalking mission. He would have been far happier with a one-to-one situation from the point of view of surprise. He had spotted where most of the terrorists were deployed and edged his way round to them. He had broken the necks of two already and cut the throats of four others on his way before Schnipfler had fired a single shot.
It was difficult to cover for the young Njoro lest Schnipfler shot him by accident; in fact he had completely lost sight of the boy. Schipfler fired into the air to draw their fire and succeeded in locating two of their positions.
It's amazing how a few shots into the air work wonders in crowd control - there wasn't a spectator in sight any more. Schnipfler climbed one of the trees to gain a better view. Njoro had dealt with a further two but Schnipfler wasn't to know there were just four of them left now.
Two of the terrorists had the same idea as Njoro and had started to close in on him. Schnipfler had spotted the movement but couldn't warn his ally, they were each only two trees away from him. There was no way Schnipfler could pick them off. What a dead loss I am, he muttered under his breath - outnumbered four to one and I haven't hit one of them. Time to make my mark on this lot he affirmed and clambered down the tree.
Njoro waited spread-eagled along an overhanging bough. The two terrorists swung around as each caught sight of the other, surprise registering on their faces as their target had eluded them. There was no time to express horror as Njoro leapt out of the tree, banging their heads together in a resounding crack. One of the terrorists folded up but the other's head must have been made of steel - he lashed out at Njoro but the young Ndebele was ready for him, grasping the knife and wrenching it from him in one move. The man let out a groan and wrestled himself free, launching a kick thrust at Njoro's throat but he sidestepped and counter-attacked with a head flip and double thrust to the man's head. Seeing that the man was dazed he immediately followed up by grabbing the man's neck under his arm and then gave it a sharp twist with the palm of his free hand. There was a muted crack and then the body went limp - so then there were only two to go.
Thinking that Njoro was now weakened, one of the remaining two terrorists launched himself at the young man with a shrill shout, trying to demoralise him and put him off balance as he brought up his revolver and fired. Njoro was well versed in the wily tactics of opposition, young though he was. He saw the weapon and crouched, sweeping the man off his feet with a roundhouse as the shot went wild but the man still held onto his gun and sat up. There was no way he could miss now - this was the end. There was a resounding report that echoed around the square and the man's head disintegrated as Schnipfler fired not a moment too soon. Njoro saluted his thanks and signalled to Schipfler where the remaining terrorist was, motioning him to close in from the opposite direction as he set off towards the Meikles Hotel. Schnipfler's mind was focussed on recovering some uniforms and getting into the helicopter.
Suddenly there was a roar as the chopper appeared over the Harare Club. A body fell to the ground as Misty pushed out the terrorist pilot who fell screaming in panic. He scanned the area to see how things lay. He had no idea whether Njoro and Schnipfler were still alive. As he moved in towards the square he caught the movement of his two men. Seeing where they were headed he used his spotlight to seek out the terrorist who had long since abandoned his position and doubled round to the entrance of the Meikles Hotel. The terrorist could now see both men, moving in on the place he had vacated. He raised his Uzi and was about to spray them when he found himself blinded by the light from the hovering machine. He cursed and fired haphazardly into the blinding light but the shots went wild. He lowered his rifle and tried to step back further into the shadows. Misty was alert; he had seen the man and moved in on him - he stood no chance as Misty cut him down with fire from the machine.
Njoro heard the shot and stopped in his tracks, certain now that Misty had dealt with the last of the terrorists. He and Schnipfler walked out into the open, waving to Misty that all was clear and to set down the helicopter. Schipfler and Njoro moved to the nearest bodies and started stripping them of their uniforms. Having taken four sets they ran for the waiting transport and threw themselves on board as Misty took off in hot pursuit of the president. Maybe they had foiled an attempt in one spot but there were still many terrorists left in the country, each being prepared to die for their cause.




CHAPTER 9

Thailand's shocking record for the slaughter of its wealth of wild animals had aroused concern amongst environmentalists all around the world to the extent that petitions were drawn up to plead with the Thai government to act urgently to save and protect their wild animals, many fast becoming an endangered species. Traders would sell their spoils overtly - tigers' heads for use as stools, elephants' feet for waste-paper baskets or umbrella stands - the list was endless. The country was in a state of transience, waiting for the right moment to hold elections and so they turned a deaf ear to the pleas and protests of conservationists, save Pui who would not slacken her determined drive to protect the environment, not just in respect for the work the king had done over the decades.
Since the informed estimate in the late seventies when leading conservationists quoted a figure of 2,600 to 4,450 wild elephants in the country, their habitat had suffered considerably so that the elephant population was little over two thousand by the time Pui took office as minister for the environment in the newly elected civil government.
Now, visitors are most likely to find elephants in Khao Yai, one of the twelve national parks, or in the fifteen wildlife sanctuaries, but many wild elephants live outside these parks and it is difficult to assess their number.
Despite the fact that elephants received royal protection in 1901, the law was being ignored and mocked at by hunters, or rather poachers, still making a fat fortune. There is no hunting, capturing or exporting overtly but that does not mean it doesn't go on surreptitiously. Deforestation, destroying the elephants' habitat in itself is a problem, at the same time blocking their traditional migration routes. Between 1975 and 1979, over 10% of the elephant population had been reduced at the hands of poachers.
The number of domestic elephants declined from around 100,000 at the turn of the century to less than 5,000 in 1982. The country holds 20% of the world population of these animals and is still declining at about 5% a year. Now there was a catch twenty-two situation - working elephants were supplied from the wild elephant population but to do this now is illegal because of the protection of the endangered species, moreover, the birth-rate is low for reasons not yet fully understood. Most of the domestic elephants work in forestry, mainly log-hauling for which there is a special training centre thirty-five miles from Lampang in the north of the country.
Anyone attending an English fund-raising event will doubtlessly have come across a 'white elephant' stall, which sells people's junk. It is surprising that such throw-outs were given the name of the most sacred of all elephants, possibly more aptly named albino elephants. The most famous white elephants in history were the seven owned by King Mahacchakrapat. In 1563, King Burengong of Burma demanded two of these beautiful creatures and because King Mahacchakrapat refused, a war was begun which lasted twenty years, the Burmese invading Thailand and sacking the old capital Ayuttaya. It is believed, according to one of the Jataka Tales, that the Buddha spent his last incarnation as a white elephant called Chadanta. The origins of the belief in these rare creatures are still shrouded in mystery.
The criteria for grading these special animals are sevenfold and include skin colour, sex of the elephant, pattern of hairs of the tail, the number of toenails and the colour of the eyes; so it appears they are nominated as white by humans and not bred as a specific genus.
White elephants are significantly special in Thailand but are regarded as oddities in the neighbouring countries of Burma, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam. Today King Bhumibol has eleven of these sacred creatures living in the grounds of Chitrlada Palace.
The Thai government was powerless to act - they had laws to support them all right but the problem was catching the poachers. Now Pui realised that there were greater powers behind them, puppets being manipulated by some sinister organisation - so many that Pui had no idea where to start looking.
Kasemsri, the guard, was back on duty the following morning as promised. He relaxed as he strolled around the ornamental garden with Pui, listening to her deliberations. 'I think I may be able to help you - unofficially of course, and it would be dangerous but first I would need your personal consent - unofficially of course.'
'If there's a chance it will bring back my family I will go out into the jungle myself. Yes, I approve in principle so long as there is no danger to my family.'
'There will be nothing to connect me with your family. I believe they will be in no more danger than they are at present - and with a little bit of luck we can remove the threat completely.'
'We?' queried the minister.
'A close friend of mine fought alongside me in the Vietnamese war - his name is Sham Ntoc, a Vietnamese who is fluent in the Thai language amongst others. I know that he will help; he owes me a favour. We should be able to infiltrate the organisation, undercover of course. I have some leave due to me - I will arrange for a reliable replacement to look after you.'
Pui wondered whether she had done right in agreeing to this impossible mission. 'You mean I can't come with you?' Pui complained.
'The task I have in mind has no provision for an amateur - I do not wish to appear disrespectful, more especially an amateur who is a woman - it's too dangerous. I'm sorry.'
'I understand. When will you go?'
'I need time - first to get leave, then to find my friend and arrange the necessary equipment - perhaps in two days,' he estimated. 'More important - I need to make enquiries - discreetly of course.'
They both sat silently by the ornamental pond, staring at the fish deep in thought.

At thirty seven, Sham Ntoc, unlike Kasemsri, was small featured, standing only five feet four inches in height, but what he lacked in stature he compensated in suppleness, intelligence and guile, for his acumen in the martial arts had to be seen to be believed - the speed of his movements was beyond anyone's credibility, rather like a speeded up film.
He was working out in the Hua Mak indoor sports complex when he saw the tall Thai enter. He sped to him in a series of head flips, bounced to his feet and gave a wai in the traditional Thai greeting.
'Welcome, my friend, to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure? It's been a long time.'
'That's true. Work. As to your first question, I need your help urgently. Do you think that you could possibly leave your dojo for a few days?'
'Kim's here at the moment but she can contact cousin Poonsak, that's no problem.'
Kasemsri outlined the involvement whilst his friend listened with interest.
'Come on, let's go now, I'll tell you my proposal on the way - we've shopping to do and people to see. Perhaps I could start by using your phone, if you would kindly permit me?’

Ten visits and as many phone-calls later, Kasemsri and Sham Ntoc had finally made contact with the poachers, at least Sham did, for Kasemsri faded into the background once he had the relevant information because he intended working under cover. Despite their success in much of their spadework, they were no nearer to finding the name of the organisation in control of the illicit disregard for the wild animal kingdom. Kasemsri set up an outlet for animal spoils but alas, by some coincidence the usual dealers were foolish enough to get themselves arrested.
Sham Ntoc wanted a slice of the action and like Kasemsri, had to establish watertight credentials which somewhat ate into the coffers, but Pui was able to arrange for her department to sponsor the mission under the guise of an animal protection expedition to the tune of two million baht from which Kasemsri set himself up in office in a sleazy alley just off Rhamkhamaeng Road not very far from Sham Ntoc's dojo. He employed Sham's cousin Poonsak to look after the office in his absence.
The following day Sham presented himself at the cafe in Trat, close to the Cambodian border, supposedly a stronghold of the Khmer Rouge. 'Perhaps there's Khmer Rouge involvement with the Pui affair,' Kasemsri suggested on the way to the cafe.
'I hope not,' Sham replied, 'it's rumoured that they have re-formed and are going to launch a new offensive before long. If there is a connection then I think we have major problems.'
Kasemsri walked on as Sham entered the cafe and sat himself at a corner table and placed the ivory deer, which he had been given by the last contact he made in Bangkok, in the centre of the table. A youth appeared and greeted Sham with a low wai on seeing the deer, beaming from ear to ear. 'Please to follow me,' he said and then proceeded to lead Sham through a beaded curtain to a little windowless room at the back of the restaurant. All that Sham could see was a dimly lit candle, which was placed on a low table; the only furniture in the room as far as he could see, for it had cast the rest of the room into a shadow of darkness. The youth left him. As his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness, Sham noticed a figure clad in dark green sitting in the lotus position in the far corner.
'Tai Tuc?' queried the old man.
'That is so,' Sham replied.
'I am Li Hung,' the man stated in accented Thai. 'What is it that brings you to me?'
'I have seen and admired many fine things made from animals. I am fed up with my humdrum existence in the office and I want a more exciting life. I do not mind taking risks, perhaps a little danger - makes it that much more pleasurable.'
'How did you learn about us?'
'I asked around. I want to be the one who brings back the trophies. I still don't know who you are and I don't particularly care.'
'Can you use a rifle?'
'My father owned the Kai Ngan rifle club in Krungthep,' he said using the Thai name for the capital, 'I can shoot.'
'That is good. Is your father still alive?'
'No.'
'That's a shame. Any brothers or sisters?'
'No,' he lied. Sham could only give the man information that could be checked satisfactorily, so he chose his words carefully.
'I see. You will have to give me some information, I'm sure you'll understand, I shall have to check on you.'
After Sham had undergone a fair grilling the man then said, 'You will return here the same time tomorrow and I will give you my decision – naturally, you will adopt the same procedure.'

The handsome youth looked no more than sixteen but in fact he was twenty-four years of age. Once again, very much the polite waiter, he appeared at the corner table, his eyes quickly scanning the top for the ivory deer, which Sham had not bothered to put out having been there the previous day. The boy then proceeded to ask him what food he would like as though they had never met before but still displaying his courteous smile. Sham sensed that something was wrong and thought that it was not convenient to see the old man - then it dawned on him that he had not put the ivory deer on the table and wondered if that was the reason the youth had not been forthcoming. He turned to the youth and apologised, placing the ivory deer on the table at the same time. The transformation in the young man was instant as though Sham had pressed a switch.
'Please to follow me,' he requested yet again.
'Ah, so you have come back,' was the greeting from the old man who called himself Li Hung. 'If you had anything to hide, I am sure you would not have returned. You will be pleased to know that my enquiries into you have been quite satisfactory - and, I hasten to add, very interesting. You seem to have an impressive background - you could be most useful to us.'
'Who is us?' Sham enquired.
'All in good time, young man. First things first. Please remove your clothes.'
'All of them?' Sham complained, 'I'm not armed.'
'I do not doubt you, my friend, but I have my orders which are to strip all new members and give them a new set of clothes.' The old man clapped his hands and the youth appeared with a set of new clothes. 'One can't be too careful,' Li Hung added. For all I know you may have been wired. I am afraid the worst part is yet to come but Dinh here is very discreet and well trained.' Sham was made to bend as the youth lubricated his finger and gently inserted it into Sham's anus. Dinh was indeed discreet for the only inkling he had of the humiliating experience was a slight bulge that had appeared at the front of the youth's trousers.
Satisfied that Sham was not concealing anything untoward, Li Hung said, 'Dinh will now take you for a bath,' the old man said, not one bit moved by the whole operation. 'It's part of the drill,' the old man put in with a wave of the hand before Sham could complain.
The youth led the way to the spotless bathroom, the walls inlaid with mirrors set into beige coloured tiles, some decorated with oriental flowers. The bath had already been prepared and gave off a sickly aromatic vapour that Sham seemed to recognise but could not place.
Dinh smiled and motioned him into the bath, first dipping in his own hands to test the temperature of the water and to show Sham that it was safe to enter. Sham stepped in. To his utter amazement, he saw in the mirrored wall that Dinh too was stripping and he too leapt into the water. The young man then reached out for a bottle and poured something into the bath, which he then swirled around in the water making a thick layer of foam. He picked up a handful and threw them at Sham's face and then began to chuckle like a young boy.
'Heh, what do you think you are doing?' Sham complained.
'You relax please. Dinh follow normal procedure.' At that he began to wash the little Vietnamese in a servile fashion. The oil soothed him and soon he lay back and began to enjoy the attention as the youth eased away the tension. Dinh was most thorough leaving not a spot untouched. He then reached for another bottle, poured some of the liquid into his hands, which he rubbed together and then into Sham's hair. 'Just one of the services we provide - we look after our members very well. You will be glad of this kind of treatment after days in the jungle without washing. The next time you have a bath it may be a pretty girl that looks after you.'
Sham noticed that the youth had not remained indifferent to his work and had obviously taken some perverse pleasure in this ritual. Dinh beamed his ear to ear smile at Sham, put out a hand and said, Welcome to the Phoenix Group, Tai Tuc.'
Sham was heterosexual, but like many Orientals, he would enjoy fun with another beautiful human being whatever the sex, and found that the ritual had caused more than a little stirring in his groin - it had not gone unnoticed. 'I am so glad that you like it,' Dinh beamed, 'but I have to get you to your destination quite soon. Please dress now.'
Sham was amazed that he had been allowed to dress himself after such pampering. How on earth was he going to make contact with Kasemsri? These people were certainly not taking any chances - the thorough search, which had continued into the bath despite the outward display of charm and servility; given a set of new clothes, and then not being allowed out of sight; escorted all the way to wherever he was going.
'Oh, I am so sorry,' the big man apologised for bumping into Sham as he left the restaurant. Kasemsri had kept a close eye on the place, hoping to heaven that Sham would emerge from the front entrance where he had entered, but he had not expected an escort. Fortunately Dinh hadn't noticed the phoney accident, being slightly in front, nor the little bug that Kasemsri had dropped into Sham's pocket.

Dinh said very little as he drove the Proton to the coast. Sham had begun to like the man and found it difficult to believe he was part of a terrorist organisation - he didn't seem the type to be associated with violence but then Sham gave him the benefit of his imagination and settled for his being purely a paid escort - after all he was certainly very professional in his work. Perhaps, on the other hand, he would just as likely stick a knife in his back whilst giving him one of his ear to ear beams.
'I have to leave you now, my friend,' he said as he pulled up at the water's edge at Laem Ngop Cape, and with that was out of sight within seconds. He had been told that someone else would escort him for the latter part of his journey but he had not bargained for the way he was to be transported.
He was standing in a slight clearing between some palm trees listening to the sound of the lapping of the waves and then..... complete silence - total blackness as some-one stepped out from the cover of the trees and clobbered him on the back of the neck.
Had he been awake he may have noticed a certain air of eeriness about Ko Chang in the half-light, with its undulating tree-clad mountains spiked with the odd volcano-like peak. Ko Chang, the third largest of the Thai islands, dominates the fifty-one other isles that form the Marine National Park with its tourist-luring marine life. Who would have ever thought that such a peaceful haven was also the home of a branch of the terrorist organisation known as the Phoenix Group?
Sham awoke in strange surroundings amidst strange faces. 'Where the hell am I?' he asked in a daze to the wraith-like figure that pored over him. The room was dark, the only light being the ghostly glow of a candle casting shadows that danced upon the wooden walls, then someone brought in a hurricane lamp, set it on a table by the side of the window and then left.
'This is your home now, my friend. I am Ky. Welcome! It is my duty to see that you are settled happily and have all you need.'
'Welcome? Some welcome, knocked senseless then I wake up with a mega-sized headache!'
'I am sorry, really I am, but it was necessary, we have to guard our anonymity and our interests, naturally. Here, drink this, you will feel fine in a moment or two. I have also cooked you some food - I thought we could eat together and then we can talk uninterrupted.'
It turned out that Ky was the second in command of the South-East Asian sector of the Phoenix Group whose members live in wooden hooches scattered around the island. Somewhere well concealed lay the Headquarters, but Sham was too new to the group to be entrusted with information of its locality or even its existence.
The movement did in fact confirm Sham's fears - that it was connected with the Khmer Rouge in some way or other. 'Our main source of income is from the animals we hunt - these also provide for our own needs. We have to pay our annual quota to the central group in quarterly instalments and help our brothers over the border. Tomorrow is your test day - we do not leave the island until you have passed your test, but watch how you go about your task.'
'Which is?' Sham asked.
'You are required to hunt and kill two wild boar and three deer, without incurring either the attention of the authorities.'
'Sham swallowed hard trying not to show his astonishment. It suddenly struck him that Kasemsri might just try to contact him whilst he was out hunting and then they would become certain prey themselves to the rest of the group.
That night Sham lay wide-awake considering the events of the day and the implications of his immediate future. If the group had their hideout on this island it was likely that Pui's parents could be held captive there. It would be one thing to rescue them but something quite different to spirit them away from the island. Kasemsri would have to play a major part in this respect - he was free to explore the island - if he had followed them.
In fact, Kasemsri made no move to reach the island until the next day, once he had discovered the direction in which they were headed. He joined a party of tourists and booked himself into the spartan beachside office complex, the island's only accommodation, which is situated near the four-level Than Mayom Waterfall. His meter registered a faint signal from Sham's homing device, becoming stronger as he moved further inland. Satisfied that he was still in touch he set about exploring the island himself. There was no better way of fulfilling his explorations and remaining anonymous than joining the visitors who were going to tour the Marine Park - at least for the time being. There would be plenty of time to make contact with his friend under cover of darkness.
'But you don't hunt with these surely,' Sham complained the next morning as he was given an Armelite carbine.
'Often we have to travel for days in the north of the country - sometimes on the borders - anyway, a long way from here. There could be danger so we need protection - two weapons are too heavy to carry so we use this for a dual purpose,' Ky said.
Dawn had only just begun to stir with the forest's natural habitation waking in a daybreak chorus. 'By the way, you only have to concern yourself with hunting and killing the animals - we will do the rest - and of course you will have to avoid being caught,' he added almost as an afterthought, so matter-of-factly.
'How the hell can I use this thing without being caught?'
'That, my friend, is the whole purpose of the exercise.'
The sun broke through the canopy of the forest, forcing its laser beams into an array of frondescence depicting yellows and greens that shimmered under the light. The dawn chorus had launched forth lustily by now as the six men started on their trek. Sham felt a little more comforted after Ky had equipped him with a knife but he felt down-hearted at having to do what he had set out to stop others doing. Ky noticed his downcast expression, putting it down to the young man's concern about passing the test. Sham soon shed his weight as he thought about the ultimate goal - to rescue Pui's family - and wipe out the terrorists.
A quarter of an hour into the forest Sham stopped, took out his knife and started hacking at some of the overhanging branches, carefully selecting the right size which he pared and then shaved one end of each to a sharp point. A thicker branch and a dangling vine provided the material for his longbow. Ten arrows should suffice, he thought, allowing two per target; he would only use his carbine in emergency. Satisfied, he pushed on deeper into the forest.
He caught sight of his first wild boar only ten yards in front of him, taking off faster than he would have liked. However, now was the time to test his home made weapon. The first shot went wild as he aimed ahead into the path of the running pig. Stealthily and nimbly he stalked the creature which had stopped to listen - he placed himself ahead of the animal, took aim and fired his second arrow, striking the pig in the eye, causing it to scream and reel about looking for its attacker. Then it spotted Sham who was standing still. The boar charged at the young Vietnamese who took out his knife and flung it at the charging pig, striking it in the neck - but that did not halt it, only making it all the more determined. He grabbed his carbine by the barrel; timing his move carefully he swung it down with a mighty crack on the animal's skull, killing it instantly. He retrieved his knife and removed the arrow to the cheers of the other five men who had materialised from their concealed positions.
By ten o'clock Sham had chalked up all his trophies bar one deer - all without a single shot being fired from his carbine, much to the delight of Ky and the other four escorts.
The next deer was a sitting target as the terrified animal had become ensnared in some of the undergrowth. Sensing the approach of hunters it panicked and accordingly tightened the noose that had trapped its leg.
To the complete shock and surprise of Ky's party, Sham approached the spotted deer cautiously, speaking words of solace to it as he stroked the animal on its muzzle. He took out his knife, cut its restraining thongs, clapped his hands, and sent the animal on its way. It deserves a fair chance he muttered to no-one in particular and hoped that it wouldn't be the one he finally caught.
Ky came up to him. 'Why did you do that, you had your final trophy in your hands, the easiest of them all?'
'It could well be the one I catch in the long run but I reckon that even animals deserve a sporting chance. ‘Anyway,’ Sham grinned, 'I couldn't impress you with an easy target like that, could I?'
Ky appreciated the reply but he began to worry whether this man was right for their team - he had already shown signs of weakness in his eyes.
'To prove my marksmanship I shall shoot the next one,' Sham affirmed. Ky gave a nod of acknowledgement and returned to his men.
Twenty minutes later Sham stumbled on a group of beautiful spotted deer, raised his carbine and aimed at the buck, slowly applied pressure on the trigger and shot the animal through the ear, scattering the other does in all directions as they fled for their lives.
Ky was impressed with Sham's marksmanship and decided to let this outweigh his earlier weakness he had clocked up in his mind.
Sham was about to ask what they intended doing with the carcasses when Ky explained that he had a further team following them who had cut up the animals and taken away the meat after burying the skeletons. Ky and his men were much more urgent with this particular animal for fear that the authorities might appear before they had finished stripping it.
As they trudged home in the midday sun, Sham asked whether or not he had passed the test.
'That, my friend, was only the first part. From now until sundown you will have to be alert for you will be put to the test many times without warning. You will know whether or not you have passed the test before the end of the day because a little entertainment will be provided for you later in the evening if all goes well for you. I think you will find it more pleasurable than what you experienced yesterday before you came to this place.'
Barely had Ky's words melted away into the midday heat than a figure leapt out of the undergrowth brandishing a knife. Then came a second man with a stave, but Ky had not expected to witness such a spectacle for Sham displayed his whip-like reflexes and alacrity in every movement. His mind anticipated every move of his opponents so that he wrenched both the weapons from them, slung them away into the shrubbery and lashed into their heads with his feet at a speed Ky thought not humanly possible. 'OK, OK, Stop!' he yelled as he envisaged losing a couple of his best men. 'Stop for the sake of Buddha before you kill them, Tai Tuc.'
'So it's all right for them to kill me is it? Am I not expected to defend myself?'
'It was never intended they should kill you - perhaps wound you a little, nothing too serious.'
'I would rather return intact to enjoy my reward - if I am to be honoured by passing my test, that is.'
The journey back to his hooch was long and full of ambushes, which Sham overcame with similar expertise, returning with not so much as a scratch on his youthful body.
That evening Sham knew how much he had impressed Ky by the fact that he was sent not one but two beautiful girls to serve him. They could not have been above sixteen years of age but they were to become an embarrassment that nearly wrecked the whole mission.

Kasemsri waited until two in the morning before making a move. A hooded torch enabled him to trace a path through the forest as he followed his meter. The reading grew stronger as he gradually neared Sham's hooch.
Finding the cabin presented little problem. Kasemsri eased open the door with caution and swore silently as it creaked, not knowing what to expect on the other side.
Certain that he had located his friend and sure that there were no other people in the place he decided to arouse his friend when he heard a female grunt as she stirred in her sleep. He cursed again to himself. Having grown accustomed to the darkness he edged his way towards the sound and stooped over what he thought was Sham, but then he saw that there were....... three bodies huddled together? 'Some people have all the luck,' he thought, 'but it's never me!'
Kasemsri made himself scarce and eased open the door even more cautiously than before, expressing a long sigh of relief as he stepped into the night and returned to his own accommodation, moonlight filtering through the trees, affording him sufficient assistance that he didn't now have to use his torch. He hoped that his friend was not going to have company every night.
The following day Kasemsri excused himself from the guided tour and decided to give himself a one-man excursion to explore the parts that other tourists don't reach, returning in time for the evening meal which he devoured with relish and retired to his room to make a few notes. His main concern was to be able to smuggle some weapons onto the island, not that there was any shortage of them around but unfortunately they belonged to the wrong side and he knew they wouldn't be too keen to sell him any. He had to get to the mainland - getting back shouldn't be too difficult as several options lay open to him, basically two - a willing friend or a coerced sailor, but before any of that he had to make contact with Sham, preferably that night.
He soon found the hut after his previous night's forage but he was more cautious in entering this time. Sham was burning the midnight oil. 'I wondered when you were going to show up,' he greeted with more than a hint of irony.
'What a nerve you have. I came last night and nearly ruined the whole mission thanks to your....er....company.'
'Oh.'
'Well here I am. I've been busy whilst you have been living in the lap of luxury.'
Sham told him about his tests and how the company he had the night before was his reward that was 'forced' upon him.
'Just in case you happen to have company again - in future, put your shoes outside the door if it is not clear for me to come in.'
Kasemsri expounded on his two days' exploration, both guided and self motivated. He explained how the terrorists were accommodated all over the place - 'We can only move when they are all together.'
'Your main tasks now are to get yourself to their headquarters and to find out if they are holding Pui's family,' Kasemsri added.
'It may take quite some time.'
'We haven't got all that much time - find some excuse to go there - ask to see their number one - perhaps he lives there.'
'Sure. What do I say, "Excuse me young man, show me where your headquarters are because I want to see if you are holding our minister's parents, then I can rescue them,"?'
'Something like that,' the big man joked. I'd better get back - I need the sleep. I will come each night around the same time unless your shoes are outside,' Kasemsri promised.
Sham was determined not to retire until he had formulated a plan but fatigue overtook him and he fell asleep poring over his notes.
Ky was so impressed with Sham that he pre-empted his request to be taken to their number one and appeared at Sham's cabin shortly after dawn.
'Our leader has heard of your hunting and fighting skills and would like to speak to you.’ Sham was still slouched over the table as Ky had entered. Fortunately the knock aroused him and gave him sufficient time to hide away his notes in his briefs before the terrorists' number two entered. 'You are truly honoured,' he went on, 'because number one rarely shows himself to rookies.'
It was a fair trek to the hidden caves way into the mountainous terrain of the island. Sham and Ky chatted amicably throughout their journey but all the time the young Vietnamese committed to memory every nuance of the tract so that he could direct Kasemsri to the terrorist headquarters on his own should the need arise.
The entrance to the cave lay hidden from view by a screen of scrub behind which lay a conglomeration of huge boulders in between which lay the cleft that was just large enough for the sturdiest of men ,even Kasemsri, to squeeze through.
The cave soon opened up into a small chamber in which two heavily armed guards patrolled, ensuring that no unwelcome guests entered through the steel doors that led into a loftier chamber which housed a comprehensive arsenal stacked on metal storage units from floor to the roof of the cave in an unlit recess to the right. On the left a series of rooms had been constructed. It was through the first of these that Ky led their latest recruit.
At a heavy desk a handsome youth sat now with his brigadier's uniform and the brown beret of the Phoenix Group on which lay the insignia of the outfit.
'Welcome, Tai Tuc,' he greeted. Sham took a step forward and stared hard at the man disbelievingly and then took two steps back astonished at the transmuted at the figure of Dinh.



CHAPTER 10

Having divulged his plan to Foreskin on their previous meeting, Martin Schnipfler initiated the move before leaving the cathedral in Harare, sending the minister into Europe right away. Before leaving he busied himself contacting all the delegates attending the Viennese congress. Not surprisingly he was unable to make contact with Dan Tindale.

Sven Olafsen was not yet well enough to travel to the re-arranged venue planned for All Saints Day prior to the congress in Vienna due to open on 3rd November, however, he had still six days leeway.

The first to respond to Foreskin's call was the very scared Wan Li Hokomo who jumped at the chance to get away from the danger of his home environment. He hadn't counted on the tail who shadowed him all the way to Munich.
The Phoenix Group did not have a foothold in Japan so a deal was struck with the Yakuza who supplied their young member, Sato. He had already terrorised the environment minister earlier and was now tailing him into Europe. There were not too many yellow faces in the Bavarian capital and so he had to take even greater care in order to ensure that Hokomo would not see him. He never knew why the secrecy was necessary because he thought it would be more effective if he were to be seen to be following him, but orders were orders and he was being well paid for it.
As they touched down, the tyres bit into the shimmering water that lay on the surface of the runway, sending jets of spray into the autumn mist that had begun to close in on Munich Airport. The journey passed with the tedium of any other long flight, devoid of drama, which was as well in the circumstances. Sato dozed fitfully as they were transported back in time, knowing that his man was not going anywhere until they landed, but Hokomo had an uneasiness about himself that prevented him from a prolonged sleep.
Theoretically the journey had taken less than three hours - at least that is how it looked on paper and the hold-up in the terminal added a further fifty percent of that before the taxi could deliver him to the Mannheimer Hotel where his secretary had made a reservation for the night. At the airport Hokomo had noticed other Japanese amid the chaos and confusion over luggage therefore he expressed his disgust to some of the other travellers who were complaining about the gross inefficiency of western countries. He noticed too that Sato, who was alone, watchful and silent with the evil look of a gangster. He noticed the missing finger, reminiscent of a Yakuza member who had stepped out of line. Fear began to well up in him again at the thought of his being followed. Still, he was too tired to worry about that tonight - maybe my suspicious mind is working overtime, he thought. Tomorrow is another day - time will tell.
Sato had taken the next taxi and followed Hokomo to the hotel. 'Pull in here!' he told the taxi driver in broken English, and watched the minister as he entered the hotel. The porter took Hokomo's luggage and the minister checked in and confirmed that he would be staying at least one night, but at that stage he was unable to be more specific.
It would be unwise for me to stay in such a classy place, Sato mused, I would look as much out of place as a whore in a monastery, so he trundled off to look for cheap accommodation in a nearby Gasthof, which he found three streets away.
Because he had slept so soundly on the flight, Sato was able to programme himself to wake at dawn. He dressed and was soon mingling with the early flow of workers coming and going so that at all times he was able to keep an eye on the entrance to the Mannheimer and so follow Hokomo as soon as he showed himself.
The following morning there was still an air of dampness surrounding the city. Hokomo awoke late and ordered breakfast in his room after availing himself of a shower and shave. He reflected on the people at the airport and wondered if he were becoming paranoid but he soon dismissed the thought. Nevertheless he was not going to invite problems, so he decided to move on. Just in case, he thought, just in case, I'll send my luggage on ahead and book out later.
To Sato, it looked as though Hokomo were going sight-seeing, but in actual fact he wove his way in and out of shops, took a taxi trip around the city, dodging in and out of narrow alleys and was finally dropped off at his starting point.
'Damn!' the expletive from Sato who now guessed, quite wrongly, that the minister had spotted him, but he was good and managed to keep with him despite his evasive action which he had taken just as a precaution.
To create more confusion, Hokomo returned to the Mannheimer Hotel for lunch. The reception clerk called out to him, 'This came for you a short while ago,' and handed him a manila envelope with just his name on it. 'I thought you had left - we had no forwarding address but the man insisted that I took the envelope just in case you returned.' The clerk was most apologetic.
'Thanks. I thought I would take lunch here before moving on; I hope that I'm not too late.' Hokomo gave one of his rare smiles again and handed the clerk a few marks and then proceeded to the restaurant without opening the envelope.
Hokomo had purposely left it a while before taking lunch so that the restaurant would fill up and then he would not feel unnecessarily conspicuous. Orientals always seem to draw attention to themselves in Europe, even without saying a word.
The minister had heard so much about Bavarian beer that he decided to order a large one, which he hoped would react favourably on his empty stomach and create the necessary effect. Having downed half a litre of the strong lager, he picked up the envelope that he had left on the table, took a knife from his place and slit open the top.
As soon as he saw the Japanese characters his stomach turned over in anticipation of what the note might say, so that he gave a belch, which he managed to suppress for the benefit of those around him - he knew it would bear bad news.
Thinking that he had been spotted, Sato decided it best that he came out in the open, to hell with orders, and let Hokomo know that he could not move without being observed. YOU WERE TOLD NOT TO GO TO VIENNA - REMEMBER YOUR BROTHER, NOW IT’S YOUR TURN, the note had said.
There was nothing new in the note but Hokomo shuddered at the menace it posed and the implications of it. How was he going to be able to meet the demands of the new itinerary? He had to rid himself of the tail - he realised it must have been the man with the missing finger he saw at the airport. The Yakuza were the scum and scourge of the country - if he could rid his countrymen of such a person he would be doing them a favour. He then had further thoughts - if he were to get rid of him, then surely they would send a replacement? He would have to bide his time.
The beer was beginning to take effect, made him feel good - he looked once more at the note, the characters began to shimmer and then dance. His eyes began to water and the characters became a distant blur. He tore the note into tiny fragments, placed them in the envelope and set fire to them in the ashtray. Confident he could outwit the Yakuza when the time came, he smiled, determined to enjoy the delights of Western cuisine.
Impressed and well satisfied with the meal, the minister settled the bill and asked if he may be permitted to compliment the chef in person, crossing the waiter's palm with twenty marks. That was the passport to the kitchen - and the way out into the back street.
He took a taxi to the station, reclaimed his luggage and boarded the train for Salzburg.

When Sato delivered the note to the reception clerk he was told that Hokomo wasn't expected back. He could not remember seeing the minister come out with any luggage and so he told the man at the reception that Hokomo-san had asked him to pick up his luggage.
'I'm sorry sir,' came the reply, 'Herr Hokomo has already sent his luggage to the station.'
'Please to give him this if he does return,' he insisted of the reception clerk. Sato made to make his way to the station and had nearly been caught. He turned into the road to take a bus when he caught sight of Hokomo hurrying along. I give him full marks for effort, he thought, but I'm too good for him, and then he hopped onto a bus.
In the station concourse, Sato bought himself some food and a copy of the local Zeitung. After his snack he picked up the paper and held it as though reading it, carefully watching the constant flow of people, zooming in on each male face, waiting for the light tan of the Oriental.
Once he had spotted Hokomo he put down his paper and followed him in the open so that the minister would know that he could not be shaken easily but Hokomo was so confident that he wasn’t being followed that he didn't bother checking people around him. Sato saw him reclaim his luggage, buy a ticket and make his way to the appropriate Gleis. I wonder why he's going to Salzburg - maybe a spot of sight seeing, perhaps a Mozart bicentenary concert, he thought. Rough though he may have been, Sato kept abreast of all the news and took a keen interest in the arts. He returned to the ticket office, purchased a ticket and stood under the number four sign for the correct section of the train that would take him to Salzburg.
Hokomo's face was a mask of horror when he turned around to find Sato standing at the same platform, waiting for the same train. I was right all along, he thought, that gangster has followed me all the way from Japan, so it was he who wrote that note. There was nothing for it now but to get rid of him - permanently. If someone were to replace him now, they would find it difficult to pick up my trail - at least until Vienna. He just hoped that Sato had not reported his latest move. Too late for obsequies, it was a fait accompli. Having composed himself, he looked directly into the eyes of Sato and with a half-smile on his face, gave a salute, which was intentionally ignored.
For the greater part of the journey, Hokomo sat and pondered how he could dispose of his tail, who stuck to him like a leech. The problem was not knowing when and where he would strike.
It was time to stretch his legs so he paid a visit to the toilet and then stood at the window in the corridor which some Italians had earlier occupied, singing and shouting without concern for others, some sitting on their cases as there was no room in the overcrowded train. Hokomo was glad to see the back of them.
An unexpected opportunity arose when the train slowed to a halt - for what reason he was not sure as they had not yet approached the station and he was certainly not going to waste time enquiring. He sought the nearest door facing the side away from the other tracks, to avoid any oncoming trains, jumped out and made a dash for the bank, leaping over and landing in a roll. To hell with the luggage, he would have plenty of time to deal with that later - if he were still alive, that is.
He complimented himself on his landing and was now out of sight of the train. He crawled into a nearby bush, which had not yet shed its leaves and so provided him with good cover.
Sato was no fool neither was he keen to lose another finger - one major slip-up in a life time was enough and was made to cut off his own finger. He was keeping an eye on Hokomo in the corridor, saw him move towards the door. He left his compartment as the minister disappeared through the door but he could not see him.
The train started to move off as Sato jumped out, squatted down to see if he could see Hokomo under the carriages, maybe catch sight of some running feet. Nothing. Hokomo lay still as he heard the sound of someone running, not knowing whether it was his tail or some kind passenger who was concerned for his well-being or perhaps just being plain nosey. He heard the clatter and creaking of the carriages as they sprang to life. Someone was bound to show themselves very shortly.
Sure enough, Sato decided the minister must have gone in the only other possible direction and so clambered over the embankment.
If only Hokomo had a weapon, it would be so much easier - no-one around to witness anything, miles from any habitation, so no-one would hear a shot. It was a wonderful opportunity to get rid of him - but how? He looked around for something solid. Sato would be certain to carry a weapon - he stood no chance if it came to a confrontation. Perhaps he would be overlooked - no, this man was too thorough; he's proved that already. The only solid thing around to act as some sort of a weapon was a half rotten section of a branch but that could well break on impact - if he could make the blow count, it would not matter if coupled with the element of surprise.
He could see Sato through the foliage of his cover, gun in hand and so he crawled a little further towards the bank, hoping he could reach the other side again. The time had come for Sato to kill Hokomo. Both were now intent on killing the other and certainly confident that they would each be successful.
The nearest building was too far away to consider - there was no chance that Hokomo could make a run for it. He began to regret leaving the train. It would be pointless going back over the bank because there was nowhere to go.
His one hope would be to make Sato think he had sought the shelter of the trees. He dug into the earth with his hands and uncovered a hefty stone which he hurled into the wood, hoping it would make a sound so that Sato would believe it was caused by his movement then the Japanese minister could flee over the bank to the track. A fat lot of good that would do, he thought, where the hell could I go? He decided on a different tack; to follow Sato into the wood and surprise him from behind - that is if he could prevent himself from treading on dead twigs, which would so easily betray his presence.
Sato wasn't too sure what he heard - it must have been Hokomo in the woods, he decided, falling for the minister's ploy. Gingerly Hokomo broke cover and pursued the pursuer, hoping that he could turn the tables to his advantage. I'm not cut out for this sort of thing he thought, ministers don't get caught up in rough stuff - well, only verbally. It's his life or mine so here goes! He progressed slowly, stopping at each tree as he came to it.
Sato was fully alert, advancing, stopping and then spinning around in a half crouch with his revolver held in both hands. Hokomo timed his enemy’s movements but they were erratic, sometimes he would effect two spins before moving off, other times he would move only one step before panning a full circle. He had to move as soon as the Yakuza man had begun to straighten out his legs.
The one thing he feared that would happen actually did - he trod on a dead twig. There was nothing for it but to launch himself at the man and club him on the head with all his strength. Sato's reflexes were honed finely so that he moved and fired in one in the direction of the sound. The minister fell to the ground only ten feet behind him the moment he heard the twig break. The shot went wild but Sato was unable to get in a second one because Hokomo dived at the man's legs, pulling him off his feet. Sato still hung onto the gun but Hokomo kicked at his wrist with all his might, crushing a bone and sending the revolver beyond reach. The man cried out, holding his hand as he lay on his side but the minister spun around and kicked at his face with all his force - he heard the nose snap and saw the blood pour from it. Hokomo picked up his makeshift club and brought it down on the man's head with the strength of a maniac, which even caused himself great pain. The wood was old and rotten. It snapped. It only stunned Sato - that was not good enough. Hokomo used his feet again and kicked at the side of his head, pounding like a maniac as the madness raged within him, so determined that he was not the one who was going to die.
Sato was unconscious - Hokomo searched for the revolver - heard groans as the man regained consciousness after only a few seconds - where the hell was it? Sato staggered to his feet lurching towards the minister who saw the butt of the weapon protruding from a pile of leaves. They both swooped for it feebly struggling for their lives. The minister just made it a split second before Sato. He fired at Sato but nothing happened. The man continued to advance towards him. Hokomo looked for the safety catch. Removed it. He fired again. There was a dull thwack as the bullet found flesh but still the man staggered on towards him, a bloodied mess with a terrifying grin on his face as though he were a figment of a nightmare. Hokomo fired the remaining rounds at the looming figure. Sato's legs crumpled under him slowly, his face a fixed maniacal stare, unchanged as he plunged into the realms of death.
Somehow he had to get back to the train and his luggage, which were by now many kilometres away. He forced himself to walk in the direction the train had gone, keeping to the side of the track.

The Japanese minister had barely covered three kilometres when he heard voices. He thought it strange that there was so much activity in such a lonely spot but amongst the general hubbub there sounded wails and shouting as though there were some urgency, so he hurried along the track, which was spiralling around a rather squat mountain. The voices became clearer but they seemed to warn him that there was trouble ahead. Hokomo's confusion turned to horror as he saw the chaos in front of him. Carriages of a train which had been travelling in the direction of Salzburg had concertina-ed so that two were on their side and two up front had bowed as it were, forming an arch which, at the apex, must have been over twenty feet from the ground. Hokomo broke out into a run to see if he could help but then he suddenly stopped in his tracks at the realisation of what he was witnessing - it was the very train he had left earlier.
All those who had survived the crash were busy, some sorting out their luggage, which had been strewn all over the place and others tending the injured. The Japanese could not speak any German so he tried his restricted English as he approached the nearest group, asking what had happened. Apparently there had been a rock fall and although the driver had applied his brakes as hard as he could, there was too little distance to bring the train to a halt and so he had ploughed into the rocks that had lain across the lines. Fortunately someone had the sense to find their way around the blockade and run on ahead to warn any trains coming in the other direction.
There were no buildings in sight from where to raise the alarm and summon help; the driver appeared to be in a bad way and could not be pulled clear of his cabin without the aid of cutting gear.
Some of the dead had been laid on the side of the track, the heads covered with any garments that came to hand. Hokomo retched at the sight of the mangled bodies.
The guard, who appeared without serious injury, seemed to have taken charge of the rescue operation oblivious of his own minor abrasions. The minister was able to get from him that there was a cottage lying about four kilometres up the line and about a kilometre or so on the right of the track. Before setting off he tried to comfort a young mother whose little girl was trapped in the wreckage, but he felt so impotent, having seen the little mite's head, the only part of her body that was visible. She must have been about seven years of age and just looked at the minister and smiled as a tear rolled down her cheek. The family was Italian so the mother was unable to understand much of what the minister was trying to say, her own English being very restricted and her poor daughter could only speak her native tongue. 'I go get help,' the minister tried to convey with a series of gestures as he left them and made his way up the line.
Hokomo really would not have blamed the Austrian who answered his knock if he had slammed the door in his face, seeing a dishevelled Japanese muttering at him in what appeared to be gibberish. The minister then tried English in desperation to make himself understood - the old man could hear the urgency in the Oriental's speech and fortunately was able to get the gist of what the minister wanted, catching the words 'accident' and 'train' and general urgent gesticulations so he beckoned the minister to enter his cottage.
The old man's dwelling could only be described as a half timbered bungalow which was drab and sparsely furnished with what looked like home-made solid pine furniture. The front door led directly into the Austrian's living room in which there were two other doors, one leading to a small bedroom and the other to a kitchen. Surprisingly and thankfully enough there was a telephone.
Over the phone the Japanese explained in his best English who he was upon which the voice at the other end changed dramatically from her apathetic tone as she put the caller through to the Japanese Embassy. Yes he was sorry about what had happened, yes he would arrange for a taxi to take him to the nearest point he could pick up another train, which happened to be Rosenheim not ten kilometres from where he was at the present. Yes he would have someone meet him at Salzburg if he could not manage it himself. Yes he would do all he could to help and yes the minister is a pain in the arse he thought.

Dan Tindale failed to persuade Garee Tomson that there was nothing more he could do and that he should return to England whilst he travelled to Vienna on his own. He had resigned himself to the fact that he could not hope to trace Clare and the children before the congress and that he was being constantly watched by a person or people unknown.
The next few days were spent travelling to Mannheim, Stuttgart and then on to Munich.
Dan Tindale had always been fascinated by World War II and had made a point of reading as much literature and novels that were available to him as well as watching all the films and videos on the subject. As he was not far from Berchtesgarten he was determined to see Hitler's old Headquarters for himself, or at least what was left of it. Although Hitler's house had been blown up in 1956, there was still the shell of the guesthouse, which was situated in a wood nearby. Adding his own contempt, he urinated on its walls. Everything in the bunkers had been stripped years before by flocks of souvenir hunters, but at least there was adequate there to set his imagination in motion, visualising what it must have been like fifty odd years ago. Satisfying his curiosity he ventured to the bottom of the Obersalzburg, then took a lift up to the Eagle's Nest which had since been made into a restaurant.
Garee had very much enjoyed the past few days and decided that after all, he could not be of further help to his friend and so he would now make some business calls in the area. He promised to meet up with him in Vienna on the eve of the congress, all things being equal.
With such a Mozart hype that year, Dan Tindale just had to spend a few days in Salzburg and hopefully venture out into the 'Sound of Music' hills surrounding the city. Next day his first port of call was the castle from where he could overlook the city, its cathedral and the surrounding hills with the famous monastery, but Mozart's house would be the focal point for the following day; a cursory visit to the cathedral and hopefully a concert later on but how was he going to convince the kidnappers that he wasn’t going to Vienna when he was so close? As things were, he did not want them to see him at all.

Canada's Robert Rose at sixty-two was the oldest of the delegates to attend Vienna. In 1987 he chaired the Helsinki meeting that was instrumental in setting up an international aid team whose aim was to combat and organise a team of helpers and to provide food and equipment for any natural disaster that happened at any place in the world, so raising funds to set this in motion was a major task, setting up centres on each of the continents. Equipment included helicopters, trucks, amphibians and trained helpers not to mention a vast reserve of food, clothing and temporary emergency housing under canvas. Rose was one of the first on the scene in the 1991 Bangladesh tragedy when a typhoon wiped out over a hundred thousand of its population. He was seen on television actually in tears at the devastation he had witnessed on his visit.
It appeared that the Phoenix Group had not considered him a threat to the Viennese congress and had left him alone as they also had with some of the other delegates who had never expressed any strong convictions on either terrorism or ecological topics.
Another classical music enthusiast, Rose just could not dismiss the chance to attend some of the Mozart celebrations. It was during the interval of a concerto evening that he noticed Dan Tindale whom he had met two years before.
'Well, how's the British minister?' he greeted.
'Hello there Rob. I’m fine thanks, and how are you? A Mozart fan too I presume, eh? I expect you are on your way to Vienna?'
'Yes. Strange about the sudden switch of plan, isn't it?'
'What switch? What do you mean?' Dan queried.
'Didn't you get the message?'
Rose explained the request that had come from Harare that the delegates were to meet in secret at St Wolfgang two days before the Vienna conference. 'Looks as though we are all being got at, Rob.'
'I'm afraid I am in the dark - have you any idea what is going on? I heard that there's a problem in Zimbabwe, that's all, but I don't know any details.'
Dan Tindale briefly outlined his own plight. 'My God!' Rose exclaimed, 'What's going on in the world?' His face dropped in shock at the thought that he too could be being watched at that very moment. 'No-one but the members concerned, I gather, knows about the change of date and venue - hopefully we will be safe at St Wolfgang but we must take precautions to see that we are not being tailed - on the other hand, we may have a little Quisling amongst us.'
'There's no guaranteeing anything. You know how well-informed these terrorist groups are - and ruthless.'
'What's this Phoenix Group?' Dan asked, 'I had not heard of it until the other day. What do they hope to gain, for goodness sake?'
'Like you, I'm afraid I am entirely in the dark.'
The two ministers toasted each other in a schnapps and returned to their respective seats to hear Alfred Brendl and the Berlin Philharmonic perform the maestro's Piano Concerto number 21 in C.
The city had gone completely Mozart crazy - everyone was cashing in on their own beloved composer. The tourist trade was the best that Salzburg had ever known as hosts of people from every nation poured in to pay their respects to the great master.
'I must say I would like to be here on 5th December, the actual anniversary of his death. From all accounts there will be so much going on it will be difficult to decide which events to attend,' the Canadian went on, but Dan Tindale's thoughts were far from the glitter of the anniversary - more that there was a breach of security somewhere along the line, a mole maybe, because it was too uncanny how the Phoenix Group had been one step ahead of him all along the line, and now he realised that the other delegates were also suffering problems of a serious nature, pointing the finger at terrorism around the world but with a common thread. He had been so engrossed in his own personal problems that he did not have time to keep abreast with the news and so he had missed the plight of his counterparts in other countries.
That night he learnt from other guests in his hotel about the tragedies involving senior ministers around the globe. Fear for the safety of his family had increased since learning of the problems in Zimbabwe whose situation only intensified the resolve of the Phoenix Group. He felt isolated. Rose had been truly sympathetic but he himself was fortunately not the subject of terrorism - this told Dan that he would gain little or sympathy from his Canadian colleague. Dan was determined to foil those who were watching him and so he gathered together a few essentials, which he placed ready in a holdall and then kept himself awake by drinking coffee.
At two in the morning he took his holdall onto the balcony, silently closing the French windows behind him. He shuddered at the cold and then edged his way over the partitions that separated the balconies of the adjoining rooms, until he reached the fire escape. A light came on in a room behind him, causing him to sidestep and then freeze. If someone, unable to sleep, decided to take a little air by stepping out onto the balcony he would be seen. In the distance he heard the faint flushing of a toilet and moments later the light went out.
He was not familiar with the city and two in the morning was not really the time to go wandering the streets, drawing attention to himself. Luck was with him as he stumbled upon a telephone box and phoned for a taxi. It would be costly but then he valued the life of his family far more than his amassed fortune.
It was shortly after three in the morning by the time he arrived at the village of Zinkenbach on the opposite side of the lake from the tourist town of St Wolfgang. Unless the taxi driver were in the pay of the terrorists, which he considered highly unlikely, then he was certain that he had eluded his over-watchers. Although his family were obviously still in danger, he felt safer himself - less threatened. On the way, the taxi driver had asked where in particular he wanted to be dropped off. He did not want to give away any unnecessary information that could lead to his whereabouts. ‘I will direct you over there by the lake - my German is not good and I have forgotten the name of the actual spot,' he lied and took a chance that there would be a few hotels near the waterside.
‘Yes sir,’ came the reply.
He did not want to tell him that he was going to the hotel where he had met the owner some years ago, 'I have arranged to meet a friend,’ he lied, 'A very pleasant man and his charming wife.'
Dan hoped that whoever the proprietors were, they would not be too angry at being awakened at that hour, so paying the taxi driver he began to conceive a feasible story to woo the hotelier into accepting the reason for being there at such an unsociable hour.



CHAPTER 11


It was two days since the police guard was posted outside the Norwegian minister's private ward. At breakfast time he feebly told the orderly that he wanted to see his priest, only to be told that he had left the hospital when the guard appeared.
'I don't care where he is, I must have a priest this morning,' he muttered, feigning the final throes of death, 'I haven't long to live, later could be too late.'
'I'll see what I can do, air' the scared orderly replied.
'That's not good enough - if you can't contact him yourself, then get me someone in authority who can.'
'Very well sir.'
Shortly after the orderly left, a sister came in. 'What's all the fuss about?' she asked, totally ignoring the minister's position of office.
Olafsen struggled to explain to the sister, the urgency of the need to see Fr Jorgensen. 'Why do you want him?' she asked impertinently.
'That's between the priest and myself,' he mumbled in an almost silent rebuke.
There was a sudden transformation in the minister. Shortly after ten o'clock, Strom Jorgensen was allowed into Olafsen's room. Until now the minister had given no indication to anyone that he was feeling very much better. On the contrary, he tried to give the impression that he was at death's door. 'Get me out of this place please, Father, I don't want these guys breathing down my neck. They'll be back all right. I'm OK now, really I am.'
The previous evening he had been visited by the Prime Minister who told him in confidence about the change of plans concerning the convention - or more to the point, about the secret meeting to be held in St Wolfgang.
'And where do you propose going?' the priest asked.
'Once it's discovered that I have slipped out of here there'll be an almighty rumpus. I feel sorry for that policeman outside because it will all come down heavily on his shoulders. Every television and radio station in the country will broadcast my leaving hospital, especially under mysterious circumstances and no doubt it will be in the press as well. That means the Phoenix Group will be on to me so I must contact the Prime Minister as soon as I'm out of here. I must make it appear to the Phoenix Group that I'm heading for Vienna and intent on attending the congress. I'm going in that general direction anyway. Then perhaps we can flush out these terrorists, or at least some of them. I really would like to capture one of them and extract some information out of him. I take it you will come with me?'
'Only if you want me to, minister.'
'Very much so - now get me out of here - please.'
'What, now? Any ideas how we're going to do it?'
'You are supposed to be the expert.'
'Thank you. OK, for starters, are your clothes in this room?
'Yes.'
'Then get yourself dressed. It shouldn't be too difficult to get out if I can think of a reason to send the guard away for a couple of minutes.'
'I have an idea. Anyone will accept a priest's word. Tell the guard that you want to administer the last rites and you need a small receptacle for some holy water. If you offer to stand guard yourself I expect he'll do it for you.'
'But I'm not allowed to move from here. Orders,' the policeman said. Hell this isn't going to work, the priest thought. A stubborn police officer afraid of losing his job is all I need - he certainly will do just that if he really does as I ask.
'It's essential I stay with the minister at the moment and I'll vouch for his safety. Please hurry,' the cleric pleaded.
Reluctantly the guard wandered down the corridor to the left whilst Fr Jorgensen took off his dog collar and gave it to Olafsen. 'Here, put this on and go. Turn right and don't rush, it will only draw attention to yourself. I'll join you in the car park as soon as I can. Here are the keys to my car.'
The priest quickly described his car and its whereabouts and then Olafsen was off.
The police guard must have seen Olafsen trudging down the corridor on his way back to the ward but he did not seem to make any connection between the priestly looking man in the corridor and his charge - it was doubtful whether he would have recognised him even if they had come face to face. He naturally trusted the priest and believed that he was still in his room.
The light tap on the door confirmed that he had not recognised Olafsen. The priest opened the door putting a finger to his mouth, partly to silence the guard in the presence of a dying man and partly to conceal the fact that he was not wearing his dog collar, not to mention the fact that he was alone in the ward. Seeing the little bowl in the man's hand, the priest slipped his arm around the door and relieved the guard of the object, gestured his thanks and quietly closed the door again.
'You stay there,' he urged the guard some moments later, 'I'm just going to have a word with the doctor.' With his coat collar turned up he left the room and once he was out of sight sped his way to the car park. He hoped there would be an hour or so before the minister's absence would be discovered.
There was no sign of Olafsen as Fr Jorgensen approached his car. He felt a slight uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. As he inserted the key into the lock he caught sight of the minister who had the sense to cower down between the front and rear seats. Relief blossomed within him when he saw him.
'Any problems Father?'
'Only time will tell. Now we have to get you out of the country.'
'But I need to pick up a few things from home, first.'
'If you'll excuse my saying so, minister, that's sheer madness.'
'Have you any better suggestion?'
'Tell me what you want from the house and I'll get them for you. There's bound to be a watch on your place, possibly two - the Phoenix Group and our own security.'
'Then how will you manage it?'
'It's better that I don't tell you. You forget that I am the professional. We might just be lucky enough to get you on a flight before all hell is let loose - there's bound to be tight security at the airport. If you are recognised, you'll be escorted every step you take and we want you free of all that if we're to flush out these beggars.'
'OK. I'll head for the obvious place, Hamburg, but first I must get in touch with the Prime Minister at the airport here and tell her I'm all right and to make it known that I'm on my way to Vienna via Hamburg.'
'You're a brave man, my friend, I just hope you're well enough to take all this on board.'
'I have much faith in you, Father,' he smiled.
They were not to know that there were no members of the Phoenix Group in Norway, but as rightly predicted, it was broadcast both on television and radio that the minister had left hospital after a surprise recovery and that he was on his way to Vienna via Hamburg. Shortly afterwards, radio and television stations in neighbouring countries were sending out their own version of the story.
It was the man known as the Englishman in the Phoenix Group who picked up the news on his travels and lost no time in notifying one of his counterparts in Kiel. A two-man team sped to Hamburg. Helmut Mischke was still on his way from Bremen by the time Udo Steiner had reached the airport.
Steiner was the sort of man who was capable of running the entire outfit himself. At a youthful forty-two he was still in remarkable shape physically, training five nights a week in the local gym. He was a natural who had the gift of reading his opponents' minds and pre-empting their moves. Not only had he survived all these years without any serious injury, he had never lost any member of his team whilst on assignment.
After graduating from Heidelberg University, he passed himself off as an Englishman and trained with the SAS in Hereford. He was one of the successful team that stormed the Iranian Embassy in London in 1981. So disgruntled was he by both the capitalist and communist worlds that he sought means of establishing his own Utopia and was prepared to go to any lengths in order to achieve it but whom could he trust? It was not easy. He had sewn a few innocuous seeds amongst friends until one day he found that one had fallen on fertile ground. A member of the Phoenix Group, which, at that time was still in its infant days, contacted him. He was able to give vent to his ideas, some of which the Group gleaned from him. It was ironic that he was posted to Germany where he settled into the life of his home country once again.

Fr Jorgensen left the plane well behind the minister. Having grown a beard and moustache since boarding the plane, a berretta pulled low over his brow and a pair of dark glasses, even the minister failed to recognise him. In fact for some minutes, he wondered what had become of him.
Steiner saw Olafsen walk onto the tarmac and from then on his eyes did not leave him after first checking that he was travelling alone. There was no way he could have connected him with the old priest who seemed to be minding his own business as he doddered towards the main airport building.
What worried Strom Jorgensen the most was the fact that neither he nor the minister was carrying any form of weapon so there was little either could do to fend off surprise attack. That situation was soon rectified as he had arranged to take delivery of a Walther, which was surreptitiously slipped into his hand as he left the main terminal. Now he felt more comfortable.
The priest had given the minister strict instructions not to look around him as though half expecting something to happen - HE would be his eyes.
The Norwegian embassy was on the ball; they had arranged for a limousine to pick up the minister from the airport. Olafsen checked the driver's identification and was ushered to a seat at the back. Steiner had now positioned himself in his Porsche 923 and ready to follow the limousine. He was calm and assured because his plan could not fail - theoretically. A half mile away Mischke would be waiting as a backup should anything possibly go wrong, but what could possibly go wrong? Steiner planned to take out the minister on his own and in his own way.
Steiner had overtaken Olafsen's limo and was tailing him from in front as was often the case in Eastern Europe. When Mischke slipped onto the road in front of him in his BMW, Steiner dropped back letting the black limo overtake. It was all too easy - run up to Olafsen's car and fire a cyanide gas pellet through the rear window - tough on the driver but c'est la vie. On the other hand in the unlikely chance of their providing bulletproof transport for the Norwegian, he would have to fall back on his back-up plan.
Steiner accelerated to narrow the gap between them. He had everything in control now. Once he had fired the pellet, his Porsche would take him miles away before anyone knew what had transpired. What happened next could never have been foreseen. A minibus pulled out to overtake the limo, not judging the speed of the oncoming articulated lorry, which swerved to avoid the idiot who had just pulled out. The lorry skidded and jack-knifed, slewing across the road. Olafsen's driver had seen the minibus pull out in his rear view mirror and accelerated to allow the minibus space to pull in but it was too late, the minibus concertina-ed as it crashed into the trailer. Steiner had no chance, he braked hard dropping the Walther to the floor as he tried to pull the car to the right but there was no space, he crashed into the cab of the lorry, killing the driver instantly and trapping himself in the wreckage of his own car as it crumpled up in front of him. The minibus didn't stand a chance; the driver and all twelve passengers were killed instantly. Steiner’s car then burst into flames and shortly exploded.
Mischke knew that his friend was in trouble - there would always be another time to deal with the Norwegian, so he pulled into the side and ran to the Porsche to see if he could help his colleague but there was no movement. The he saw flames and ran away from the vehicle as fast as his legs would take him. He couldn't tell if Steiner were dead or just unconscious but on hearing the explosion, there was n o doubt in his mind. The car was totally destroyed that stopped him looking for anything that could be regarded as evidence.
'Drive on,' Olafsen ordered, 'I'm not taking any chances, this could well have been intended for us.'
Fr Jorgensen, whose taxi was six places behind Steiner, was torn between his duty as a priest and that of protecting the minister. He had already had his suspicions about the Porsche that appeared to be shadowing the Norwegian, but Olafsen was his priority. 'See if you can pull around the lorry when the road's clear ahead,' he ordered, 'it's imperative I keep that limo in sight all the way - imperative as in life or death.'
Mischke checked with the hospital just in case that by some sort of miracle Steiner had been thrown clear but his mentor was dead on arrival. Mischke knew that Steiner would have expected him to carry on where he left off and eliminate the target.
Mischke had not received the specialist training that Steiner had, neither was he a strategist but he had learnt much from his guru - how to survive above all else and many other techniques employed in the field. He possessed the qualities of initiative and diligence in all he undertook but he lacked the essential quality - experience.
Hamburg possesses many hotels, so Mischke knew he was in for hours of foot-slogging. The minister had to be staying in one of the higher class establishments, so Mischke decided to start at the top and work his way down the list.
Olafsen booked himself in at the Bayernhof and hoped that it would give him a little time before anyone would locate him. Fr Jorgensen secured himself an adjoining room and began listing possible ways the terrorists might attempt to get at the minister - a sniper, a bomb, an assassin either forcing his way in or in the guise of room service or perhaps they would go for something more sophisticated. He then thought about how he would go about the job if he were in their shoes. Time was on his side. He had suggested the Bayernhof to Olafsen to give him some thinking time. He should have at least two hours he thought, having taken a hotel about a third of the way down the list of local hotels. The cleric excused himself to do some shopping. 'I think you'll be safe enough for the time being, minister. I have to go out and purchase a few necessities for your protection.'
One of Steiner's specialities was the use of cyanide gas - it sometimes meant killing the odd innocent person but it is more reliable than having to depend on training a gun on a particular person, and it’s result almost as quick as a bullet. Mischke tried to learn from Steiner but he had neither the expertise nor experience to emulate him. He was on his own now and would have to use his own ideas and hope that he could carry them out to a satisfactory conclusion.

Tracer bullets warned Misty of the danger of trying to land his helicopter - fortunately they were still out of range of the tirade so they launched their own rocket in the direction of what they believed to be the source of the fire. He did not see the helicopter carrying the president that had just landed nearby and before he could get out of the machine, it exploded into a fireball that mushroomed into the night sky. Bullets were still being hailed at Misty as he hovered just out of harm's way. A second rocket from Misty soon silenced the offensive. Misty waited a minute to ensure that he had been successful and then he went in low, hedge hopping, fingers at the ready on the machine-gun button.
As they left the chopper they could hear the noise and confusion. Shadowy figures could be seen scurrying against the orange glow. Some grabbed the nearest weapon and began firing wildly in the direction of the stationery machine. Njoro motioned the others to follow him as he led them in a wide circle in order to approach the enemy from behind. A loud hailer screamed in English at them, telling them that they had just killed the president with their rocket.
'We need them alive or else we shall never penetrate their underground hideout,' Misty said but he was unable to make Njoro understand. He would just have to restrain the African if he started shooting. There could not have been above a dozen of the terrorists all told, nevertheless they were still outnumbered four to one. Schnipfler had taken one of the rocket launchers with him as a precaution. For a while they hid in some nearby scrub as they tried to establish who was in charge. The enemy appeared to be in total disarray, which made it difficult to pinpoint a leader. They had left the president’s helicopter to burn because there had been no hope of rescuing anyone after such a vast explosion. The terrorists now needed to regroup having lost both Lobengula and their second in command. At length a wiry man seemed to take the initiative and calmed down the remaining men. When they were silent he issued fresh orders to establish defensive positions.
'That's our man,' Misty whispered as he nudged Njoro and pointed at their assumed leader. Njoro nodded in acknowledgement but it was doubtful, despite Misty's gesticulations, that he understood they wanted to capture the man alive.
The wiry leader had a small box in his hand and began to hasten away from the general scene of activity. 'Great!' said Schnipfler, 'nothing like deserting your men in times of trouble.'
'I don't believe he is deserting them. Come on, let's follow him, I think I know what he's up to,' Misty proclaimed.
Wiry ran straight into their arms. 'I'll take that!' Misty demanded as he relieved the startled man of his little black box snatching it from him in case he had not understood. Wiry was about to try some heroics then thought better of it when he found himself on the receiving end of the ugly weapon pointed at him.
The box looked like some sort of remote control, which Misty guessed to be the passport to the underground hideout.
'Without me that will be of no use to you,' Wiry said in English, hoping it would at least buy his life.
'I wouldn't count on that, buddy, if I were you,' Misty replied confidently invoking fear into the terrorist. 'I know what it's for and where to use it.'
'But you could take months working out the first code alone.'
'He has a point there,' Schnipfler conceded.
'If I tell you the access codes, will you let me go?'
'I make no promises,' Misty answered acidly, 'but it sounds a possibility. How am I to know that you will not alert those inside?'
'You will have to trust me as I have to trust you.'
Njoro had no difficulty in finding the marked trees, even in the dark. It was obvious that the young terrorist was suitably impressed if not surprised. He gave Misty three sets of figures, each not only had to be entered in the correct sequence but there was also a predetermined time delay on entering each group.
Although the ground began to rise in front of them, they were not to know that the middle set of digits had set off an alarm that locked off the main section of the complex so that the men could go no further than the first thirty metres. They had pushed Wiry in front of them for surety. Schnipfler was about to ask how to access the rest of the labyrinth when there was a hail of bullets. Wiry took the first burst in the chest, lifting him off his feet. The others dived to the ground and returned their fire in the general direction of the assault. There was no means of escape, they had not noticed the entrance behind had now sealed them inside - they were trapped.

'It is good to see you again, my friend,' Dinh greeted. 'Surprised?'
Sham was speechless. 'I must admit that you were the last person I expected to see - and you took orders from the old man.'
'All carefully planned so that I can weigh up my new recruits personally. That way I feel much safer, I trust only my own judgement. Maybe you think I am very young to be in this position?'
'It had crossed my mind.'
'You must not let looks deceive you, my friend; I am older than you think. I trust you are not feeling any the worse for your encounters in the forest? No, how silly of me. Your combat skills are most impressive. I think that even I may have difficulty with you,' he said as though he himself were the last word in combat skills. 'Perhaps I will take you on some time but now that you are here, I will show you around.'
Dinh pressed a few buttons and a door built into the wall swung open, revealing a smaller chamber from which two other openings led into darkness beyond. The soldier pressed another switch and the left hand tunnel lit up. The first room they came to was an array of technology and monitors. 'This is our communications centre. You may wonder how we can receive signals in here but it is very misleading, we are four hundred feet above sea level and very close to the surface.' Two men with headphones over their ears, were seated around a sweeping console, one of them glued to a monitor showing activity Sham believed to be somewhere on the island.
'You have hidden cameras all around the place, no doubt?' Sham seized the opportunity to milk information that would help fulfil their mission. Dinh made no reply as he led Sham out of the room and along the passage to the next door, which opened into a vast chamber. This is the training centre accommodating a gym, firing range and a lecture theatre.
'Very impressive,' Sham commented, wondering whether he would be expected to have to be put through his paces again there and then. About a dozen youths were in the gym area being instructed in one of the martial arts whilst another group were doing some sort of circuit training.
As he closed the door behind him, Sham noticed another door further up the passage but Dinh had decided to turn back. He might think it impertinent to ask what was in there, he thought, but he knew the answer without asking - that is where the captives were. His heart sank because he knew it would be nigh impossible to penetrate the area. As though Dinh had read his thoughts he said, 'That's only a storage area up there.'
'Do you mean to say that everything has to be taken all the way down there?' Sham asked, hoping for he knew not what in reply - anything that might help him.
'We have a tradesman's entrance,' Dinh joked. Seeing the impressive arsenal in the first chamber confounded any ideas that there could be any prisoners in there, on the other hand, there could possibly be some truth in what Dinh said about another entrance. Sham was sure he knew where the prisoners were being held but how they could get to them was quite another matter.

Now, Dan Tindale had very little time before the meeting in St Wolfgang - if necessary he could swim across the lake, he thought frivolously. He was entirely alone having cut off everyone and he had no idea how he could rejoin Garee nor did he have any idea where he was. He was resigned to working alone - he had to cope. His latest evasive action should have shaken off all surveillance but he was no nearer to finding his family than when he was in England. He could not foresee how or when or even if he would be reunited with them. No doubt the convention in Vienna would be seen to go ahead under the circumstances and he must be seen to be absent - it was his only hope and as a bonus all the business should be completed in St Wolfgang.

Misty, Schnipfler and Njoro were trapped underground with no means of contacting the outside world because their RTs were useless in such an encapsulated area. Now they were under heavy fire and vastly outnumbered. The steel and concrete door, covered with scrub on the outside would be impossible to penetrate – the only means of being able to open this would be if they had access to their control room and even then it was more than likely there would be more codes to overcome. First things first. ‘How the hell can we beat that lot?’ asked Schnipfler, ‘only three of us and one can’t understand a word we say to him. Come on Misty, you are the expert.’
‘We have little option, we will just have to shoot it out and hope for the best.’
‘If this is the local Phoenix Group’s headquarters then they will have an arsenal of weapons that we have no hope in hell of matching. They know the layout of the place so we are at a disadvantage all round. No other person knows of this place and I doubt if most people have even heard of the Phoenix Group – I reckon it’s pretty new to this country.’ Then as an afterthought, ‘Maybe things are not so gloomy – remember the first time we came? We estimated that all told there must have been no more than a hundred. How many do you think returned after their unsuccessful sortie?’
‘I see your point,’ said Misty, ‘there can’t be that many of them here; maybe just a handful to keep things going and they are without their leader – at least that is what we assume. Let’s start with the odd grenade, I don’t think it will bring the place down.’
They held on to the grenade for a few seconds before letting go so that it exploded almost as soon as it landed. There was silence until after the dust settled and then someone returned the compliment but not being so wise, they threw it immediately giving Njoro enough time to pick it up and throw it back. After the explosion there was silence once again as the remaining terrorists were now beginning to fear that their enemy was a sizeable force. Guns at the ready the three stealthily but speedily made for the area from whence came the attack. Dead bodies, whole and dismembered were scattered nearby as they saw the backs of a couple of fleeing and very scared terrorists. Njoro thought it better to resort to jungle tactics and put down his weapon in favour of a knife. No sooner had he gone than he was plunging the knife into the first back that he saw. The victim gave a stifled grunt as he fell which attracted the terrorist in front of him but he was too late; before he turned round, Njoro with the knife still in hand, thrust it at the other’s throat. The first victim tried struggling on his stomach towards his weapon but Misty had caught up in time to club him with the butt of his carbine.
Things appeared to be looking up and the three felt a resignation of hope but all was not over yet.

There were shoes outside Sham’s place so Kasemsri cursed a whisper and hid himself with a watchful eye, hoping that Sham’s visitors were not going to stay all night. After all, he had already been pampered with a great reward so it was doubtful he would get that twice in such a short space of time. He was not to know that it was only one visitor and it was not of the female sort this time. Dinh had come to talk business and wanted Sham to join him on a venture up north – the ‘work’ involved a certain amount of danger but Dinh needed someone of Sham’s ability to lessen the risk of casualties. Sham was worried that he was going to be taken away before he had time to fulfil his missions: firstly to rescue Pui’s parents and secondly to splinter this terrorist organisation.
It was another hour before he left. ‘I must give you time to get as much sleep as possible because we want you at your best,’ he said as he got up to leave.
Five minutes after Dinh left, Kasemsri saw Sham open the door and retrieve his shoes so it was all right to make his call.
Sham explained why Dinh had visited him but the bad news was that he had to leave the next morning which gave them little time to search for the back entrance, get to Pui’s parents and get them off the island before light – it seemed an impossible task.
Meanwhile, Pui had learnt that she was needed urgently in St Wolfgang but the message did not say anything further. She was afraid to make a move lest they would be watching her and so kill her parents. The note only mentioned the convention in Vienna so there was no need to worry as she was travelling to a different venue and at a time well ahead of the congress. She packed her things having made a reservation over the phone and she was on the first flight to Munich.

Mischke may have been green behind the ears but he certainly lost no time in locating Olafsen. He returned to his far more humble accommodation and lay on the bed trying to fathom out a way to kill the minister. Schemes raced through his mind, most of which he discarded for an assortment of reasons so he drew up a short list of three possible ways. His main concern was the movements of his target because he had no idea of the minister’s immediate plans, hence ruling out a sniper’s shot at him. He thought again of Steiner and what he had told him about the use of cyanide – there was, of course, the usual bump into him method with a concealed needle in a brief case but that meant following him and perhaps being recognised or even getting the wrong person. He decided it would have to be in the form of a visit to his hotel. Cyanide gas in the room while he slept would make sure of his never waking again. Yes that’s it, he mused and began to plan out how he would do this. He was at a distinct advantage as he had all the time he needed and there was no-one who would be looking for him. He worried that it was all too easy – so he had to think of all the possible snags and eliminate them one at a time.
Strom Jorgensen, meanwhile, had made the necessary purchases and had returned to the hotel. He went to reception and asked to change his room so that he was no longer next to the minister but directly opposite so that he could have a clear view of Olafsen’s room.

Dan Tindale was wondering why the family was being dragged around the continent, surely it would have been just as, if not more, effective and certainly simpler if they had remained in England. It bothered him a great deal – nothing seemed to add up. The bottom line was that some group of terrorists had kidnapped his family and told him that they would release them after the Viennese congress, providing he didn’t attend – so why all the chase? He was now on his own as he had parted company with Garee, whom, he assumed, had made his way back to England as there was little else he could do.
It was time for him to think seriously and do his homework he thought as he lay on the bed the next morning. It was all so simple – his family had been kidnapped and the ransom was his forfeiting his part in the meeting in Vienna. Why had he chased across the continent himself – had it been purely panic or had he really believed he could catch the perpetrators? Was he going to ignore their threat and go to Vienna or was he going to consider his family and not bother with the meeting? It was time to make up his mind and at the same time, find out what else was going on in the world. He asked the proprietor to get him an English newspaper to catch up on what was being said about him and to find out if there had been any similar instances anywhere else in the world.
What surprised him the most was that there was very little reference to himself other than a very little article in one of the inside pages saying that there had been no news as to the minister’s whereabouts – not even a word about his family. Strange!
The lead story, however, was about terrorist activities in Zimbabwe. He then remembered that Pieter Foreskin was on the list of members due to attend the congress at Vienna. So! He exclaimed, there has to be a link. He checked his list of representatives expected to participate and found other articles that all seemed to link up.

The East-West cold war had completely thawed out but in the distance there were other problems brewing. America had a foothold in almost every country in the world one way or another and there was increasingly strong resentment to their interference throughout the globe and certainly there was political manipulation. Islam saw them as the biggest evil and threat in the universe, so they joined the bandwagon of terrorists, sympathising with the Palestinians in their perpetual fight against Israel for an independent state. Suicide bombings were not uncommon but Israel was again backed by the Americans and like the Americans, the Israelis asked for what they got – they could not see that they were the ones who provoked terrorism in the first place – the enemy of my enemy is my friend syndrome. Dark clouds were amassing throughout the world as both the West and Islam were trying to gain popularity. Anything at all in the way of terrorism was being blamed on the Islamists. Dan Tindale looked for such connections in the information gleaned from an assortment of newspapers over a period of time. Although he had made many observations and connections, he could see no relevance with the present series of problems appearing in countries that bore no connection with each other, the only common thread being the anti-terrorist convention in Vienna. If the terrorists were so concerned about this, surely they could catch all their fish in one net? Why all the cloak and dagger stuff with individuals? It really puzzled him. He realised that he must get to the newly arranged meeting in St Wolfgang and urge the delegates to unite and act against terrorism as a whole throughout the planet. His own country were fast becoming puppets, not of the European Union but of America. They continued to look the wrong way and so they would be tarnished with the same brush as the Americans – something he would have to fight against back at home – that is if he were able to return to his position in the government. The press had come up with the words Phoenix Group, something entirely new to him but apparently quite frightening as it was gaining momentum throughout the globe.
Dan Tindale was a popular minister and had the support of the vast majority of voters in the UK - he was being groomed to step in the shoes of the present Prime Minister, hopefully at the next election, and move into number ten. He was not a man who sought personal gain or importance, more a man with a purpose who saw so much that was wrong with his own country. One of his spare time hobbies was to study his country’s laws that were far too numerous and outdated. Unlike other ministers he was somewhat of a psychologist and knew that the more stringent the laws, the more people would try to break them, just like schoolboys who find a long list of rules on their notice board and go out of their way to break as many as possible. Schools were another thorn in the minister’s side too – they were not fulfilling their role and were fast becoming breeding grounds for rebellion, laziness, disrespect, drug dealing and many other unpleasant facets of society – even teachers often forget that these children will shortly become adults. However, now he had a few days to prepare his stake in the debate in St Wolfgang.

Hokomo was preparing himself for St Wolfgang and he too had a personal axe to grind and also reflected on what was happening back at home. He began to put on his thinking cap and put pen to paper. At least Japan was strong economically and was a major financial competitor.

Deep in the bowels of the earth, Schnipfler, Misty and Njoro started to search for the nerve centre of the Phoenix Group, uncertain whether or not it was the only sector in the country. They could hear music emanating from behind a closed door that seemed to be in an area cut off from them. Maybe this was the control room. In order to breach the safety area they would have to use a fair amount of plastic explosive, which would naturally announce their presence but there was no other way. Once in they searched around, weapons at the ready and discovered bedrooms, living quarters, store-room which contained domestic supplies and a locked section that contained weapons. No-one had come to challenge them which seemed a little strange. Further a field the labyrinth opened into a much larger single area; this was where they stored their vehicles. ‘If they keep their helicopters here, how on earth do they get out?’ asked Schnipfler.
‘There must be some sort of device that opens the roof,’ suggested Misty.
They broke open the stores and helped themselves to a few necessities and moved on to the canteen with an adjoining kitchen. Again, they entered stealthily because it was likely that there were duty cooks who would be preparing food, expecting the others to return. They were right, there were two of them but they easily succumbed to Njoro’s knife. That was easy; ‘Now for the room with the music,’ said Misty.
Not knowing what to expect inside, they gave a loud knock and waited. There was no response the first time so they knocked again, this time with the butt of Misty’s machine gun. The knock was answered. ‘Hello!’ said Misty as Njoro flung the knife at the man’s throat. The three burst into the room, not firing indiscriminately because they did not want to destroy equipment that would let them out but searching for bodies and making sure a bullet found its way to neutralise these technicians.
The next thing Misty did was to contact Pieter Foreskin to let him know what had happened; then they had to set about finding how to operate the means of opening the entrance as soon as possible because there were others who were deployed in operations elsewhere in Harare and who would be returning sooner or later. This found, they were then able to position explosives and set timers for when the others returned to base.
This done, they made a hasty retreat, leaving the entrance open for the return of the remaining terrorists who would have many surprises waiting for them.

Kasemesri uncovered the weapons he had stashed away in the nearby wood and handed Sham his share. Quickly they ran towards the place where Pui’s parents were being held. Looking for a rear entrance was no easy matter as it had been well concealed. The side entrance, as Dinh had described it, was carved out of the rock, which had then been replaced to make it look like a normal rock face. The only hopes of entering was by using some C4 which would just about awaken the entire island so their mission seemed doomed before they could make a start. ‘Now what do we do?’ asked Sham.
‘We go to the front and ring the bell,’ came the reply.
‘You jest, of course. Very funny!’
‘Not a bit, I’m quite serious. If they are off on a mission in a matter of a few hours there will sure to be a night shift doing the preparation. Someone should answer and we do the rest – as quietly as possible.’
There was indeed a bell, albeit concealed from the odd passer-by. It was only a matter of a minute before someone appeared, in fact they took no chances, there were two of them suitably armed even though they only expected to find their own men at the door. Sham was instantly recognised and so they lowered their weapons but that was their mistake as Sham swivelled and kicked both their guns out of their hands whilst Kasemsri rendered them unconscious. ‘There will be more inside, no doubt,’ said Kasemsri, ‘let’s go see.’
‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ greeted Dinh, ’can I help you?’ The two were taken aback at seeing the boss. ‘I thought you were too good to be true, Sham,’ he said pointedly.

Pieter Foreskin received the news of his president’s demise with mixed blessings. Governments throughout the world were quite ecstatic because of the corruption he condoned throughout the country. Now the Zimbabwe government was in complete disarray with the failed attempt at a coup leaving them without a leader. They were certain that it was not the last they would hear from this group; terrorists rarely give up after one attempt whatever their losses. They were sure that it would not be long before they tried again and so the army chiefs were called together for an urgent meeting. Had it been merely an opposition party that had rebelled, there would have been much sympathy for many would have welcomed the change of regime but the Phoenix Group were purely terrorists for the sake of causing disruption and chaos. Those who were the happiest were the white farmers whose land had been confiscated, their families threatened and some even tortured. Now the Prime Minister not only had to keep the country on its feet and try to minimise the vast pile of problems that had accumulated but he set about organising presidential elections which would mean observers coming from outside organisations to ensure that there was no vote rigging. This in itself, was an awesome task.
Like Dan Tindale in Britain, Pieter Foreskin was a popular and sincere man who had his country and its people at heart. He was also being groomed for the higher echelons of government but was not a favourite of the late president. He now felt reasonably secure and that there was no further imminent danger to his family; hopefully at a terrific cost, the episode should benefit his cause.

Mischke set about locating Olafsen’s room, which was not really a difficult task for an assertive and mean man with a single purpose in mind. That done he relaxed and made plans to remove the minister from the planet that very night. The sooner he fulfilled his mission, the earlier he would receive his financial reward. Not only that, he felt duty bound as a respect for his mentor. Steiner had told him how to handle cyanide because of its lethal powers and so he had to be very careful how he chose to administer the gas. There was nothing to be gained from a mass extermination and he certainly did not want to fall victim to it himself. He considered what could possibly go wrong but it all seemed so easy; the plan was foolproof; he would eat in the hotel restaurant and remain in the bar until the early hours and then wend his way to Olafsen’s room and fire a syringe of the lethal liquid through the keyhole and then leave the hotel right away. The first thing he now had to check was that the doors had standard locks with a normal keyhole. Should they be the self-locking type, then he would have to resort to his second plan – knock on the door, call ‘room service’ and when the minister responded he would squirt a vial of cyanide in his face. So how could he possibly fail? He need not even book into the same hotel. So much easier than pushing a man off a balcony or shooting him, both of which would attract a great deal of unnecessary attention.

Dinh produced something in his hand that stopped the two men in their tracks. They were caught and unable to overpower the man with the crossbow as they were not close enough.
‘Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me what you are doing here with this stranger,’ he addressed Sham.
Sham knew that there was no hope in hell of explaining away Kasemsri’s presence after the ritual and scrutiny he underwent to get into the place himself. Dinh was quite prepared for a sudden assault from Sham or even his friend, knowing the speed, power and accuracy of the little recruit. Sham remained silent which worried Dinh even more and he inwardly began to tremble. The two visitors were aware of this but the crossbow was so lightly fined that a slight touch would discharge the lethal bolt.
‘Maybe you have some more friends who will come looking for you too?’ queried the young terrorist. Still there was no reply.
They both knew that to be caught could be the key to their success so they continued to play dumb. Hopefully they would be locked away with Pui’s parents.
‘I really need you for this important mission,’ began Dinh, ‘in fact, it would be a failure without you, so you will be accommodated here to get some rest whilst your unknown friend will be housed in less pleasant quarters.’ Meanwhile a guard had been summoned who tied together the hands of each of the two men and gagged them using thick silver coloured adhesive tape.

Having discovered that the hotel doors were the more modern type, Mischke decided to resort to his second plan and then went to the restaurant for a late meal. Meanwhile, the minister had returned to his room without acknowledging Father Jorgensen who had by now made preparations for a good night’s watch and wait having stocked up on a thermos of strong coffee. Maybe nothing untoward will happen tonight, he surmised, but I must be prepared just in case. There was no keyhole to stare through so he made a microscopic hole in the wall and fitted in it an optical camera, which was also a sensitive listening device.

It was dark inside the room in which Kasemsri had been led after being stripped of his weapons but he sensed the presence of others. He could not say a word as the adhesive tape stuck painfully to his mouth. He listened carefully and could hear breathing so we carefully moved towards the sound. Whoever had tied his hands had done a good job; there was no way he could free himself.
Sham was put onto a mattress in an otherwise empty room and his fetters removed as there were no windows and the door was securely locked. He was given drink and there was a dim light and a makeshift toilet was positioned in the corner. He wondered where they had taken Kasemsri and knew that there was no hope of rescuing Pui Thanet’s parents. Dinh had told Sham that if he did not cooperate, his friend would be shot. He would stay locked up until they returned from their mission.
More important to the Phoenix Group even than the Viennese conference was the pre-arranged meeting of the terrorists in the same city. This was another big reason for global government ministers not to be around. It did not only concern the Phoenix Group but more especially the Islamic militants who were more numerous and stronger than the European based Phoenix Group, even though their members stretched far around the world, most of whom were quite ready to give their lives for the cause. They wanted the spread of Islam and the downfall of the ‘decadent’ West. The ‘interfering’ Americans and British were their main targets. The problem was to gain sympathy for the Phoenix Group.

Pieter Foreskin arrived in Austria in time for the rescheduled meeting, which now included more heads of state. The main item on the agenda was to form some large and efficient force to fight terrorism around the world.

In the Bayerhof Hotel, Fr Jorgensen first heard and then saw the unknown man stop at Olafsen’s door. He seemed slightly familiar but could not place him. He certainly had no business with the minister because he had been advised not to contact anyone at all – and that included room service. Any requirements were to be made through Strom Jorgensen. Now was the chance to rid them of these villains. Just in case he inadvertently killed the wrong man, he armed himself with a dart gun that rendered someone unconscious immediately. As soon as he heard the knock and the words ‘room service’, he silently opened his door and fired the dart gun into Mischke’s neck. He dragged him into his own room and searched through his pockets but there was nothing that could identify the assailant. He was certain he had the right man so he lifted him up and threw him through the window of his own room. Now it was time to accompany the minister to the rescheduled meeting place.

There was much to talk about at the meeting in St Wolfgang but Pui Thanet remained silent because there had been no word from her home country about the whereabouts of her parents. She was bitterly disappointed because by now she had hoped that her parents had been rescued and the threat removed from her whole family.
She listened with interest and sincere sympathy at the stories that unfolded from the various representatives but the main topic was to find a way to combat terrorism. No-one had any idea that the main congress in Vienna had been rescheduled but it was quoted in the press as being cancelled. This was the word that Dan Tindale had hoped would be the key to release his family. Muslim activists had also been in the news for some weeks now and it was difficult to pinpoint any particular area. Bombs had exploded in public places, gas attacks and all kinds of suicide missions. Terrorism was no longer open warfare but cowardly, underhanded acts that could not easily be detected only by the responsible organisation boasting its claim. Alas, America had sent their Secretary of State in hopes that they could control the anti-terrorist campaign. The Americans had not only become the most disliked nation but the most feared by all others other than their puppets in Britain.

The ‘opposition’ who were secretly meeting in Vienna were under the auspices of an Englishman who refused to become a puppet of the USA and so he readily accepted the Muslims as his friends and, as leader of the Phoenix Group, assured them of his full co-operation. He told them of recent hiccups and promised that his group would never again be depleted in such a way so long as the Islamists, who had very their own special training centres, would join with him. They shared experiences and offered each other help in the future including access to training and to their mutual arsenals. Even the Columbians were represented and offered access to their wealth of facilities and and vastly superior equipment. There were no members of ETA or the IRA present, neither were they invited because their causes were different and very much individually tailored. What they were concerned about was the downfall of the dominance of the American influence. Now that America had a cowboy in office at the White House they knew that he would be a warmonger and care little for true peace in the world. As far as he was concerned, there was only one country in the world which not only antagonised the terrorist and Islamic groups but also the Russians and Chinese and other Orientals.

Dinh’s sector was in dire need of funds – they did not have enough money to keep their own outfit ticking over so the plan was to make three simultaneous bank raids – two in Chiang Mai and one in Chiang Rai. Plans of the targeted banks had been in their hands for some time. They knew when, where and what their attacks on the branches were to be carried out.
Sham was handcuffed until they were well north of Bangkok. There were three teams of four people, all with specific tasks allocated. They had their own transport, all with false documents and number plates. They had handpicked their members very carefully, and their escape routes had been meticulously chosen.
All this time, Sham wondered how he could overpower one of the teams and make a getaway but at the back of his mind was Kasemsri and Pui’s parents. If he could free himself from his particular group then he had others to contend with and there was little hope of saving the lives of those back on the island. He was indeed stymied. On the other hand he had to keep Kasemsri and the other hostages alive. If he returned home as expected, then there was no guarantee that they would be kept alive. At least, there was nothing to connect Kasemsri with Pui’s parents. Perhaps an unexpected opportunity will present itself, he thought, and just hoped that something would occur out of the blues. He considered what Pui must be suffering hell; she must be going crazy with worry, he mused.

At St Wolfgang, each delegate promised a group of highly trained professionals to become part of an elite anti-terrorist force who would be ready at very short notice but persuading their governments for finance to muster up equipment was another story. Each would have to work hard on returning home and preseningt tangible evidence of recent atrocities. They had already named their new force GAT (Global Anti Terrorists). There was little else they could do at the present. Environmental issues had been forced into the background and problems shelved for the time being.
Dan Tindale’s immediate concern was to be reunited with his family and he tried dialling his home though he did not expect any reply as the whole place was completely stripped of furnishing before leaving for the continent. He tried phoning Garee but only his wife was at home and had no idea where he was; she surprised that her husband was not with Dan. The press had released a story only that day to the effect that Dan Tindale was regarded as the object of a terrorist plot. The headlines that day sent shockwaves through the country, giving much space to the fact that his family had just been found dead in a nearby reservoir, bound and gagged with weights attached to them. Dan was devastated at the news, the only slight consolation was that the heat was now off him personally, but what good was that to a man who has lost absolutely everything? Before Dan had returned home, his government had decided to put their full backing into fighting terrorism. As yet they had not heard of GAT as the whole meeting had been behind locked doors and no press given any hint as to who were meeting or for what purpose. As expected, the Americans tried to dominate the meeting and control GAT but with such anti-American feeling it was thought ill advised and that the group should be based in northern Europe.

Thailand had never been known for any terrorist activity, which set Sham thinking because he knew Dinh to be Vietnamese so it could be that they were basically Vietnamese on Thai soil or maybe there could be some Cambodian connection with the Kmer Rouge. That made more sense because they all had an axe to grind with the West, especially if they were from the North of Vietnam. Somehow and for some unknown reason, the Thais had been dragged into this unruly mob. Sham could not fathom it out but it was essential that the whole outfit in Thailand had to be wiped out but as yet he had no ideas forthcoming.
Three different cars were waiting at Hang Dong, some twelve kilometres south of Chiang Mai. There was also a van for their return. Dinh took charge of the first car, which was going to rob the biggest bank in the city. His number two took the second car with Sham, to keep an eye on him, to take the second largest bank in Chiang Mai whilst the four who travelled to Chiang Rai were all entirely unknown to Sham. They each donned masks to avoid recognition.
Dinh successfully relieved the bank of its entire cash and valuables. The Chiang Rai group was relatively inexperienced and made a real hash of things as someone had triggered an alarm and there was a shoot-out. The only member to survive was the driver and he managed to escape but without any takings.
Sham knew that this was his only chance of escape and would have to take things into his own hands as soon as they entered the bank. The driver was around the corner waiting patiently. Sham told the clients to lie on the floor whilst the other two took the money: one dealt with the cash at the tills whilst the other made the manager unlock the vault at gunpoint. As soon as the one gangster led the bank manager to the vault, Sham struck like lightning and downed the robber at the tills with a very strong kick to the head, rendering the thief unconscious and then tied him up. He told the clients to carry on as normal whilst he sought out the one who had gone to the vault. Some left the bank hastily whilst others continued with their business as quietly as possible according to Sham’s instructions. He did not want these men to live to continue their violence so he crouched at the top of the stairs ready to shoot the gangster with the weapon he had seized from the one who was unconscious. There was no knowing whether or not he would get a clean shot at the man without harming the manager. This he managed to carry out successfully then removed his mask and ran to the car not waiting to be graciously thanked by the bank’s manager who was indebted to this unknown man whose appearance was that of one of the gangsters. Sham yelled, ‘I’ll be in touch. Don’t worry, just call the police.’ The manager stood agog for a moment and then rushed to the telephone.
At the car, Sham shot the driver as he entered and kicked him out of the vehicle and then took control of the car himself. What lay ahead was a more difficult task than what he had just accomplished. Dinh was no easy man to outdo in any respect and then there was the other car to deal with so he first took the Chiang Rai road and hoped to intercept the retreating group, unaware that he had only the driver to deal with.
He found a suitable spot to hide in wait for the expected group. As soon as it passed, he pulled out and gave chase, still unable to see that the driver was on his own. He sped as fast as the vehicle would take him and then tried to ram him off the road. The driver was caught unawares and had difficulty in controlling his machine. He was unable to fend off the attack. The ramming continued until he was able to knock the vehicle down an embankment and into what appeared to be an approaching tree. Now was the time for the difficult part. He had to find Dinh’s party and deal with them, which would be no easy task.
He considered two plans to deal with Dinh and his three cronies. Either way he would have to get to Hang Dong where the van was waiting to take them back home. It was essential he got there before them. He would find a suitable spot to keep an eye on the van. Dinh was no fool and had the same idea so Sham was duly ambushed. Dinh was expecting four people to return together with the loot from the bank. Seeing only Sham, panic welled up within him. Sham had no time to plant any C4 in the van, which was his first intention so now it was down to a four-to-one shootout. He had expected to be the pursuer but found himself the pursued. Not only was his life at stake but those of Kasemsri and Pui’s parents. He had to turn the tables and give chase so that no-one would have time to make a quick call to those guarding the unfortunate hostages.
Sham quickly did a hundred and eighty degree turn, took out the carbine he had taken from the driver and gave chase. Bullets were flying everywhere and no-one seemed to care where they embedded themselves. There were bodies flying through the air as they tried to escape the tirade. The cars dashed down stone steps and through alleyways that barely accommodated the width of them. Some of Sham’s bullets killed two of the passengers and so he aimed at the tyres, trying to drive them off course. His own car was peppered with bullet holes but fortunately for him, none found flesh. The battle raged throughout Chiang Mai but the punctured tyres made it difficult for them to continue their pursuit.
He needed their original van if he had hopes of returning and rescuing the hostages. It was purely good fortune that no-one had yet contacted those back on the island and so there was still hope that they would be alive. How he would cope on returning was another story but it was essential he decapitated the head of the organisation. He had already removed the number two who was with him on the bank raid but he was not in the same street as Dinh.
The chase was long and tedious but neither of them would give up easily; their whole lives depended on success. In Dinh’s car there were still three alive, though one had been seriously injured which cut down on shooting power. Dinh was not driving so he was free to shoot at the swerving car behind him. It was pure chance that Sham managed to evade his pursuers and return to the van whilst Dinh was still searching the streets. He took out some plastic explosive, which he hastily affixed to the van with very little time to attach a detonator that he had surreptitiously acquired from Dinh’s store overnight. He dumped his own car and continued on foot, which made it more difficult for Dinh to give chase. Dinh swore at his annoyance for having lost his target and so he returned to the van with the other two who were still alive but readily ignored the third one who had been injured. He was callously left in the car. Now he was intent on keeping the fortune he had acquired, transferring it to the van and getting back to his own headquarters as quickly as possible. He would plan a welcome committee for Sham’s return after dealing cruelly with the hostages. He had never given a thought that Sham could have beaten him to the van. He loaded it with the takings and with his mate jumped headlong into the van. Turning the ignition, he started the van but Sham was waiting for him to get out of the crowded area and then triggered the detonator. Dinh, his friend and all that they had acquired soared into a mushroom cloud as Sham triggered the explosive.
Now it was safe for Sham to return and release the hostages but it would not be a straight forward task.
He entered the driveway and sounded his horn to alert those inside to let him in. That done and now with mask, he was able to trick the guards into thinking it was Dinh returning. How easily they were taken in. His machine pistol did the rest. He scanned the building cut into the rock and was able to release Kasemsri and the grateful parents of the Thai minister. Mission accomplished, he muttered to himself.


CHAPTER 12

The meeting at St Wolfgang had been a great success with no opposition whatsoever to the setting up of GAT (Global Anti Terrorism). Every representative agreed to offer help. With their permission, Fr Jorgensen, Misty and Schnipfler were elected to head the new force in their absence. It was later the next day that they received news about the Thai incident and so Sham and Kasemsri were soon invited to play a leading role in the new force. Pui’s parents had been returned to their home, much to the great relief and delight of their daughter whose reception back home was a tearful but extremely happy reunion for all. She had been assured of financial help for her work in Thailand and promised a team to rid the country of profiteers from the country’s valued wildlife. Olafsen returned home to continue his work, assured that Fr Jorgensen would be at hand should the need arise.

In Vienna the story was different. At the secret meeting, the Phoenix Group was chaired by the English rebel, who had grown thoroughly ashamed of the hypocrisy of his own country; he believed that something radical must be done right away. A typical example of their hypocritical government was the Prime Minister of Britain who had preached family values during all the time in office, just like is predecessor, and then it was discovered that this so-called ‘family man’ had been experiencing a long lasting covert relationship with one of his female ministers. Laws were constantly being made which rendered life intolerable for most of the country’s faithful electorate. For two decades new laws were increasingly being passed which made Britain more of a police state than the old USSR. Instead of looking to their European counterparts, they were looking to their puppet masters in the west and indeed their fellow hypocrites.
The Islamists were no fools either and had been monitoring what was going on. By request they were readily co-opted to the Phoenix Group, with Abdu Malek in charge of the Muslim sector. The group now adopted a slightly different role, being more active and determinedly violent. All present agreed that it was time to pay retribution for what they called the crimes of the West. When one looks at the situation in Britain, perpetrators of crime were being more and more harshly penalised for their misdemeanours. Psychologists, which the government lacked, knew that the more stringent the laws, the more people would go out to abuse them. Prisons were overflowing but the ironic thing was that those who put culprits in these institutions were themselves far more criminal than those they convicted. The general public had been brainwashed for years so that they demanded their pound of flesh; they wanted the keys to be thrown away whilst harbouring their own skeletons in the cupboard. Fortunately, some of the European countries refused to be drawn into hostilities. Britain and America had created a ‘holier than thou’ stance and stood their ground despite alienating themselves from the greater part of the world. The electorate of the majority of citizens had been brainwashed long enough, following their governments like lambs to the slaughter. The situation had grown worse than Germany was prior to the second world war but far worse. Ironically, what the West decried the Germans for, were now doing the very atrocities themselves.
Most of the meeting outlined plans for future attacks and the acquisition of urgent necessary equipment, which they organised by means of a series of raids on military arsenals around the globe. Funding was an urgent necessity, although many of the members had already amassed large sums, not for themselves but for the cause, over the past months and placed it all in secret bank accounts in Liechtenstein and Switzerland.
Silence was observed for two minutes in memory of their oriental brethren who had lost their lives, not to mention the embarrassing loss of such a vast amount of money planned to swell their funds, in their recent operation.
These people now controlling the Phoenix Group were not criminals as one knows them; there were no drug dealers or otherwise dangerous men; they were professional people such as doctors, lawyers psychologists, teachers and even sportsmen who felt that they had had enough of governmental corruption and cover-ups. Their voices were being ignored because they were only whispers in a society of growing power in both the media and government.
The new-style Phoenix Group felt that they could muster up enough support to cause sufficient chaos in order to make people sit up and take notice. ‘The time for talking has passed,’ said their leader, ‘we must strike now!’ He urged all those present to make their attacks simultaneous and fierce – then and only then will the general public be awakened out of their apathetic state. It is strange how it takes a war or a natural disaster to make people help each other. Demonstrations were generally ineffective because those in the upper echelons carried on regardless of public opinion – maybe a little modification here and there as a token gesture of appeasement, mainly to their own ends in order to regain their seats in government elections. A major problem was modern listening technology – it was difficult to prepare anything subversive without it being picked up on satellite and the essential element of surprise would no longer give anyone the essential edge. It would take time to establish bases underground, well hidden from local inhabitants and from heat reactor photography. Strikes had to be made at countries’ nerve centres but security was at an all time high. Guy Fawkes was the inspiration for the general plan which was outlined in skeleton form but very much modified to meet modern standards. They were not short of volunteers for suicide missions, and that included women too.
Racism had virtually died a death by the eighties but it was beginning to rear its ugly head again with a vengeance as people were fed up with foreigners living on their territory and taking their jobs and living off the state. Fascist parties were fast becoming the fashion throughout Europe because so very many countries were at loggerheads with their immediate neighbours and immigrants pouring in from all over the world. Many British were thoroughly fed up with their own way of life and wanted to get out – but where on earth was the grass truly greener? Many had burnt their boats and sold their homes to live elsewhere not realising that to visit a country for a holiday was totally different from living in the place. The population in many European countries was fast declining as people preferred to spend their money on enjoyment rather than raising a family. The European Union was fast collapsing at a greater pace than it was being augmented mainly from the old eastern block communist countries. Newly found democracy only invited poverty, unemployment and crime. Russia was no longer a super power and had its own internal problems despite having a popular and active president. It had generally faded from the international scene.

Abdu was responsible for the proposed American operation – his sector was known as the Phoenix Islamic Group, or PIG, whilst the Englishman took care of his home country with PUS, the Phoenix United Sector. It took far less time than had been expected to establish bases for the new style Phoenix operations.
Provided there were no moles in the outfit, then the respective plans would work – no warnings, total surprise – and hopefully a new start for the West. Germany and France had become the dominant countries in the new European Federation. Laws were not only far too numerous but some of them were outdated in terms of centuries. A new style of government was needed with laws completely abolished and a new set started from scratch. Many existing laws were based on religion but now even that was fast becoming a thing of the past as more and more people were becoming atheist; even the Islamic religion was losing its following and there was no longer the incentive for an Islamic dominated universe. Politics was a comic show because ministers had only entered the political life for personal gain. Democracy and Communism had both failed miserably – like the Buddhist faith, there had to be a middle way. The two burning questions were what would replace these two alternatives and who would administer a new style regime? It was all very well bringing down a government but there would be others waiting in the wings to make just as farcical a situation than that which already existed. Countries were forever going into a recession and the international monetary system wavered up and down faster than a yo-yo. The world was becoming smaller by the day but international trade was vital to most nations. The personal revenue created wealth amongst a growing elite but the poor were getting poorer too. Professional footballers were earning more in a week than a pensioner who has worked hard all his life, earned in seven years; it was absolutely preposterous.
Now it was time to gather together a think tank so that all would be ready for change before the time came. The Americans were good at making shallow promises and then found themselves in chaos, not to mention their military farce with their expertise in killing their own people with friendly fire.
If the Phoenix Groups were to look outside their own members for help, then it would not be long before the world knew what they were up to and they would be hunted down and destroyed before any scheme were formulated. The Phoenix Groups agreed that the most successful regime in modern times was Yugoslavia under Tito. Phoenix had members within their executive who were extremely capable of doing most of the hard work required to put the targeted countries on their feet but finding a perfect leader was another matter. This was a more formidable task than bringing down the governments they had already planned to destroy.
Abdu Malek was summoned for summit talks, which lasted several days. The outcome was most satisfactory for all concerned.
‘We have several entirely different cultures,’ said Abdu, ‘Europe is virtually the United States of Europe, but there will always be groups within this vast federation who want to keep their own identities.’
‘Whatever the outcome, it is vital that what we come up with will be better than the existing systems,’ added the Englishman. ‘The world is fed up with unscrupulous dictators but a dictatorship on the lines of Tito’s Yugoslavia has to be the answer. Running a country is akin to running a successful business.’
‘But we already know that businesses fail from mismanagement and there is certainly as much corruption in many businesses as there is in government and even sport,’ added Abdu. Eastern Europe is unbelievable in the way organisers of sporting activities only have certain sports on paper but then collect money from their government which goes straight into their own pockets. The martial arts activities were notorious for this but it was either being covered up or people were turning a blind eye because they themselves were finding fraudulent ways of swelling their purses.
America and its puppet, Britain, both out of favour with the rest of the world, needed something radical beyond belief if they were to regain credibility in the world. Both countries had suffered bigots as their leaders. They had been hell bent on destroying dictators who were not complying with their own ideals.
The only way to stop this western corruption meant dealing with both countries simultaneously, which was rather difficult with the time difference between the two countries. Thought was given to two differing methods of destruction but then there were multiple problems.

PUS had made their plans without a fuss and there were endless volunteers for proposed suicide missions. PIG members were equally enthusiastic but were rather concerned at the time difference between the two countries. Two identical operations with a big time delay could well be a disaster, as America would get wind of the British demise in sufficient time as to alert their own authorities, who would heighten all security measures. PUS had the explosives and the helicopters needed for their operation and there was certainly no shortage of volunteers, but PIG were unsure as yet, how to deal with the American side of the situation. They called themselves the Superpower, a name, which was earned both by its physical size and also by interference in every other country in the world. The USSR was once an opposing superpower but with the break-up of its members, it no longer ceased to be as such, thus giving the Americans even greater power. An illiterate teenager in Europe one day was watching television when the American President appeared – he referred to him as ‘The President of the World.’ “Out of the mouths o babes……” Both countries were dependent on a full house at their governmental sessions. The aftermath of both operations demanded skill and intelligence. Targeting solely the leaders of the two countries was not good enough – it had to be all or nothing. Abdu wondered how the hell he was going to deal with his almost impossible task, as his problems were way behind the British in terms of time. They just could not act successfully at the same time, which meant that he had to find a different approach. It was vital that the leaders of the respective governments and the majority of the ministers were together at one particular moment.
It was broadcast that there would be a long debate in the Houses of Parliament when, because of the nature of the subject, there would be a full house present and also the premier would be in attendance. They would be considering proposals, which their puppeteers had given them, for they too would be in session the approaching day. So that was it, a date was fixed.
Ironically, the date happened to be the fifth of November, a little more than a year after the formation of GAT. Fortunately for the Phoenix groups, terrorism was at a low period and had been for some months because of a recent peace solution in the Middle East, which led to a certain amount of complacency on behalf of the western governments.
The Englishman was no fool, having learnt so much from his neighbour over the years. He was efficient, clever and compassionate – just the qualities for a governmental position but he had already overstepped the mark and there was no going back on that. He was now a wanted man, a real terrorist as the world eyes such characters.
Abdu was still in confusion over his plan, as it could not possibly coincide with that of PUS, or could it? He had more thinking to do.

It took some weeks of thinking and organisation but at last, Abdu came up with a plan, which he considered as foolproof as any. He wished his partner in PUS good luck and hoped that the two ventures would be a thorough success. He had his team in place both for the missions and for the governmental takeover, though, like PUS, he was not yet decided on the person to take overall charge. Success for Abdu meant that his countries and fellow Arabs would no longer be in fear of interference from the super power which was their greatest thorn in the flesh. The Americans would have to eat humble pie - and about time too, he thought.

Fr Jorgensen spent some time delving into the working of the Phoenix Group and could not help but admire so many of their principles. He considered joining them at one time despite what had happened in recent months. Olafsen went into deep meditation about the events of recent and joined Strom Jorgensen in his commitment to their group despite his being the one time victim.
Pieter Foreskin studied all the news reports and was only too pleased to be rid of his own president and was now canvassing himself for that very position. He too saw the value of the Phoenix Group and made secret enquiries into their present situation and intentions, wanting to know if there was still an element left in his country. He could not believe that now, after the trauma of his family, he was in fact able to understand what they stood for. The country of Zimbabwe, so much like South Africa was now being controlled by their country’s mafia since the retirement of Mandela and likewise there was little rest in any of the African states. He too had considered joining the following of the Phoenix Group before he decided to run for president. Pui, on the other hand, was solely committed to her own country and the environmental problems and did not wish to concern herself with problems in other countries around the world.
As for Ayakin Hokomo, he was committed to GAT and swore that he would spend the rest of his life, like Pui, in helping to maintain his own country’s ecological affairs. A leading country in the business and financial world for decades was now beginning to crawl on its knees.

It was four o’clock on the morning of 5th November and the PUS team were all in position, together with the group of suicide volunteers which included two women. Three helicopters were packed full of explosives, which could destroy an area of ten acres to the depth of nearly a kilometre. There had been no problem in acquiring the necessary choppers or the explosives because PUS had inside contacts and so there was no hue and cry about missing military equipment. With so many buildings that had helipads in the city, it was not unusual to see these whirly birds coming and going around London at any particular hour.
Zero hour had arrived – the helicopters were ready in position. Now it was the time of waiting. No-one took any notice of the machines that stood on the helipads as it was quite a normal thing – but neither the cargo nor the pilots were in any way normal. They just sat and waited for the word to go. It was essential that both houses of parliament were in full session with a full attendance and in particular the Prime Minister essentially had to be there. It was a long wait and so far there had been no alert – nothing appeared to be unusual or suspicious. The main debate started at midday as planned and so the time for the attack was one o’clock to give latecomers time to be in their places. It was rare that there was one hundred per cent attendance because there were always cases of sickness or other urgent business to attend to, but for such an important occasion, it was certain that at least ninety per cent of them were going to be present.
At precisely one o’clock, the helicopters started up their motors – each one was situated at a different approach. There was naturally, a certain amount of apprehension amongst the pilots as they knew that this would be their last voyage to anywhere on earth and the last thing they would ever do, but it was all in a magnificent cause for mankind so that survivors would stand a good chance of a reasonable future and so would their children and grandchildren too.
The debate had started and there was no inclination of anything amiss in the city other than the usual stock exchange with its almost riotous activity both on the floor and on the telephone. Nothing seemed out of place and security around the city was normal and for the average policeman, boring.
Nobody took any notice of the helicopters converging on Westminster but when all three met and nose dived onto the Houses or Parliament, heads turned abruptly as a massive explosion echoed around the city, debris and masonry rising high into the sky in the form of a vast mushroom-shaped cloud. The Royal Family had been ousted five years after the nation’s referendum, some three years beforehand, which was almost unanimous in the belief that the country should be a republic. There was total devastation – but complete success for PUS. Meanwhile, an elite group from PUS took over the BBC station and announced that there had been a successful coup but apologised that it was necessarily with loss of many lives. A lone helicopter laden with a massive amount of explosive had also fallen onto Scotland Yard, killing all but a few office staff, who were seriously injured. The public were warned to stay calm and do nothing; they would be kept up to date with the political scene as it progressed. PUS was not only in control of the BBC but of the country. Other groups had entered the control towers of the main airports and were not letting any flights in or out of the country until further notice as the second wave of helicopters laden with a further amount of explosives were hovering ready to strike but it was hoped that having learnt what had happened to the Houses of Parliament, no-one felt like arguing. Relatives and friends of MPs were beside themselves with grief. The police and military were at the ready but it was made quite clear that anyone interfering with the new regime would be dealt with severely which meant that airports, already under threat would be blown sky high. For the time being, Garee Tomson was in charge of the country and made it known that thwe police and military would be under his command. Excepting Dan Tindale, who was in hospital at the time, all those responsible for running the country were dead. No minister was on holiday during this critical period because of the nature of the vital issues at stake and under debate.
In his ward, Dan Tindale could not believe what he was seeing or hearing on the television. He was not surprised after the demise of his family a year ago. Not only was he apparently the sole survivor, but his one-time neighbour was the arch terrorist. Satellite channels were still broadcasting and most of the independent stations had picked up word that the Houses of Parliament had been razed to the ground but no-one had any idea of details. He called for his personal belongings and immediately used his mobile phone to make a call to the SAS in Hereford who were ordered to take immediate action. In such circumstances they were short of ideas but they alerted the military departments throughout the country. There was very little they could do. Garee Tomson was in control.
In his short prepared speech, Garee mentioned that PUS, of which he was the leader, was now in charge of the country and that as he spoke, a team of his colleagues were restructuring the system. Private companies were only permitted under certain criteria but the major industries, what was left of them, would be state controlled. Work would be compulsory for all men under the age of fifty-five, unless genuinely incapacitated, and he would be notifying his proposals for salaries and wages in due course, setting a maximum of fifty thousand pounds a year and a minimum of thirty thousand. Pensioners - that is those above fifty-five, would receive forty thousand. Properties would all become state owned and any amounts stashed in private bank accounts above a hundred thousand pounds per family, whether in Britain or abroad, would be confiscated by the state and distributed to the poor – what remained would belong to the state. Here, Garee stressed that he abhorred corruption of any sort and that his ministers would not pocket anything for themselves or their families. He was to be regarded as the modern Robin Hood. He informed the nation that a new President and Prime Minister would be appointed as soon as possible.
Garee commandeered the county administration buildings in the heart of the Midlands where he and his ministers would set up the new parliament. Nominations for the posts of President and Prime Minister woujld be considered by the existing regime. Meanwhile, PIG had its members in position and ready to overpower the American administration. The Americans were more security conscious and Abdu knew that he had a formidable task on his hands. They would have awakened to the news about the strike in England and would automatically strengthen their security. PIG needed to be and indeed was a larger concern than PUS because they had been brought up to be fanatics and ready for any sort of action. Despite all this, the Americans did not have any representatives in GAT. However, Abdu’s team had already secreted themselves inside the country. Recent events caused both Britain and America to be left out in the cold, virtually sent to Coventry by nearly every nation in the world – even the British performers in the Eurovision Song Contest were booed and not one point allotted to them by any of the other twenty-five participating countries. The Americans only had themselves to blame for their unpopularity; nevertheless, that is how the situation stood. They had been experiencing attacks all around the world and their presence clearly made unwelcome. For years they sensed that they would be targeted in some major attack but they had no idea in what form it would manifest itself.
A coup in Britain was not only unbelievable but unthinkable and so GAT called a crisis summit meeting to discuss what options they now had. The country was officially lawless except what the terrorists regarded as their responsibility. Their prime duty was to appoint a leader who would be ruthless but sincere yet beyond corruption. Some of the PUS members were working all hours to sort out the problems in their self-appointed posts.
There was a no-nonsense regime – Northern Ireland was to be returned to the Irish so that the whole island would become a republic – those loyalists would either have to accept the situation or be re-housed on mainland Britain with guaranteed work and housing. Scotland and Wales would become federal states and independent from England. Their separate parliaments would have to set about making their own laws and appoint their own Prime Ministers – and mighty quickly too if any sort of order were to be maintained.
Dan Tindale knew that he was the only remaining minister and therefore for all intents and purposes, was the Prime Minister and President combined so he had to make some very quick decisions. He was hoping that his popularity would gain him some sort of credibility but PUS was more than a fair opposition for him – they were offering popular alternatives that went straight to the heart of the public. The country had seen multiple demonstrations in recent months, calling for the government’s resignation and showing their abject feeling about wars that had been forced on them without consultation. Dan Tindale stood alone as a representative of what had become a very unpopular government. Elections had been rumoured but there was no other party with sufficient zest and ability to make an effective alternative. The average Brit would usually vote for a party because it was traditional within their family and little thought was given to the parties’ manifestoes. Now out of the public’s eye, he had only one channel of retribution and he was absolutely determined that the perpetrators of his family’s demise would pay very heavily indeed.

History shows that in general, it is only the good that are assassinated. Now it was time to change this. Corruption in all the high places in America was at an all time high. It was Abdu’s responsibility to see that it was stopped immediately. A strike similar to what they had planned for Britain would only alert the authorities to expect similar action. Abdu would never volunteer for a suicide mission himself as he had to remain steadfastly in control of PIG.
It was predicted that the President would address Congress and the Senate together to report about the demise of the British government and say what they would do about it. This was something for which Abdu was hoping and praying, as it would place all his targets in one location. ‘Perhaps a little of their own medicine is called for,’ he surmised. ‘If they are stupid enough to kill each other with friendly fire in war, then they could well be stupid enough to put all their eggs into one basket.’
Jerusalem was the perfect target for the Muslims but most of their attacks were in the nature of car bombs in such places as bus terminals, discos, hotels or markets. This sort of action was without prior warning and effective but it always brought repercussions that were far more severe than their own attacks. Such action was not productive. Abdu had to eliminate all his targets in one strike – a difficult task. His scheme had to be original and unique, something that no-one would even consider remotely possible. He had no inside contacts and so the task was virtually a non-starter. He thought of the maxim ‘Set a thief to catch a thief’, but still he was without inspiration. There is always a way, he thought, but in this case it still eluded him. He thought of the important people in government, then what if he found someone, what could he do? The Secretary of State had to be the answer. He had access to all military equipment so he would have to operate remotely. One of his team could surely ‘accidentally’ attach a small device to him that would render him a laser target – the rest was easy. Acquiring smart bombs or missiles was no problem; they now had an arsenal full of them. The President was due to address both houses at midday their time, so Abdu had little time to prepare things though there was no problem in securing a well-hidden launching area.
Following the Secretary of State was no easy task as he was transported by car most of the time and there was little chance of any personal contact. Abdu personally took charge of this task though he was obviously Arab in appearance but no-one took notice in such a cosmopolitan area. As a precaution, he attached the first device to the Secretary of State’s car as he ‘stumbled’ on its proximity. Ensuring that he had a target within the building was another matter. He armed himself with recording equipment and posed as a reporter who waylaid his guest, the Secretary of the UN. Two birds with one stone he considered, I cannot believe my luck. Pushing forward and being assertive as most reporters are, he managed to get his cameraman to attach the necessary device to the underside of his briefcase.
Abdu signalled to his temporary headquarters and gave the necessary instructions. Meanwhile, his second in command arranged a diversion not too far from the White House and used two of his suicide volunteers to be captured, thus diverting attention from the real target. The President, meanwhile, prepared his short trip with augmented security.
It did not seem feasible that a violent attack could take place amidst such high security. The President was too self-assured to consider any danger. He did not consider for one second, that there would be a Kennedy-type attempt at his life but he had armed security on top of all buildings within a two kilometre radius. He knew, or rather, believed that he was secure. The Pentagon was also ready for an assault, making sure that any aircraft approaching the area would be turned away upon threat of destruction. The President was smug in the knowledge that both civil and military airfields were secure and that the television and radio stations were well covered too. He added to his precautions by refusing any journalists access to his meeting. He planned on speaking to the nation later in the day via the television networks but until then, all was completely and utterly secret.
Abdu smiled to himself as he thought of the devastation he would cause if all went according to plan. He was not an optimist but with his usual efficiency, he was cautiously optimistic about this major operation, the likes of which had never on this planet been equalled. Any warning would alert senators and congressmen alike and all would be doomed to failure, though he knew that he himself and PIG were safe, because they were quite unknown to the general public.
At five minutes past twelve, an FBI agent urged himself into the building, showing his true credentials and explaining that the President’s life was in danger. He was allowed into the hall but what he was about to say was of little consequence as the missiles, launched from as little as three kilometres outside the city, were already travelling on course. The FBI man was too late with his information because as he approached the President, there was an almighty explosion followed by a sequence of resounding detonations that shook the city for miles around. No-one inside the building survived. At the same time the Pentagon was razed to the ground.
Before the nation heard about the catastrophe in Britain, they found themselves in the same situation themselves. Although it had not struck them at the time, the country was now lawless. However, Abdu and his team had quickly taken over the television stations and under threat of being shot, the staff prepared the PIG leader to appear on screen on the state channel. He had left nothing to chance and other major installations were under PIG’s regime with very little resistance.

The GAT members listened and watched with interest to what was being told the nation. It was indeed a terrorist and unforgivable event but there seemed to be a good deal of sense being spoken. There were no immediate counter measures being planned but rather they saw the logical and reasonable side to the situation. They found themselves agreeing with almost everything that was being said. What could they do because they were not able to restore something that no longer existed? If they were to get rid of PIG, then who would replace them? At least they could avoid a panic if nothing else, which meant gathering a large force together. On the other hand they could come under the auspices of Europe but then the British would certainly rebel at being governed by the French or the Germans, the two strongest federal states. No, to invite foreigners to step in would definitely be a recipe for disaster. Had there been a bloodless coup, maybe GAT would have joined PUS themselves.


CHAPTER 13

The aftermath left much work to be done; it was essential that presidents were appointed from their own countries. PUS had sufficient candidates in their own group without searching far a field but with PIG, the challenge was a difficult one because not one of their members was an American citizen.
Meanwhile, the reality of what had happened had affected other countries in many ways - they were now in considerable confusion, both in Europe and in many cities of other continents, particularly in Japan. Both financially and trade there was chaos, the latter almost coming to a standstill.
PUS was the first to appoint a President and a Prime Minister, neither of them by the democratic voting system but chosen from the PUS executive. Nominations for both posts had been numerous and the task of selection, difficult. PUS wanted two men who were impeccable in character, with administrative acumen, a likeable personality, and with the assertion of a good business executive. However, the PUS committee had to lay down the specific duties for each post and so a new constitution had to be devised so that the two leaders would not overlap responsibilities and tread on each other’s toes. The selected two must essentially be able to work together and with advisors from the PUS administration so that decisions and actions would not be impulsive or ill advised. Previous rulers with high qualifications in law had proved a failure. Common sense had to prevail. With Garee mainly responsible for the demise of Dan Tindale’s family, he thought it unwise not to offer him a post in the new government despite the fact that he would be an excellent man in any position to which he were appointed and he was the only legitimate member of parliament still alive. England had become multi ethnic, immigrants or their families almost constituting the majority - the English were very sore at foreigners coming in and claiming everything possible from the welfare state and giving little or nothing in return. This new regime had to be radical. Regarding immigrants, the first rule was simple – either at least one member of the family worked or they would be kicked out of the country and that did not mean they could go over the border to Wales or Scotland to escape because such laws were being passed in order to avoid this occurrence. Though independent, they would necessarily need to co-operate with the English Parliament so frequent summits were part of the regular programme. The biggest problem would be people not wishing to remain in Northern Ireland – if they did not wish to become an Irish national then they were free to settle in one of the British states, given a house and assured of work. Again, it was an unenviable task but with foresight it would resolve so many problems.
One Peter Fox was the second in command of the military and police; a man of integrity and a most valuable asset.
The new President was named as David Goodman and the Prime Minister, Michael Tindling. There would not be a House of Lords neither its equivalent – those days were over. No-one was ever again to be knighted for Britain was no longer a monarchy; there would be other high honours for those who unreservedly served their country way beyond the call of duty. The two new leaders were to appear at a press conference, which would be screened on every television channel simultaneously.
The new administration would be unpopular with the rich, especially those who had accumulated wealth but it would be very popular with the average worker and the pensioners who, together, would form the majority of the mature population. Smoking, which brought in a vast revenue with the old government would be banned in an attempt to lengthen the lives of the English population. The tobacco industry had been a major player in the corruption game and now they would be out of business altogether, which was the cost of corruption. Although cigarettes brought in a huge revenue from taxation in the past, there were other means of revenue, much of it from the smug wealthy population. If people could not take responsibility for their own welfare, then there had to be a body who would help them. The Health scheme would be total with nothing paid for treatment or medicines. Private treatment would not be permitted so there would no longer be a two-stream society, which gave privilege to those with money. Private schools were going to be taken over by the state – if people did not like the idea, they could send their children to other schools in Europe, if they would take them, which would mean a good deal of self sacrifice for the parents because the new income laws would restrict their capital.
Attitudes would have to change rapidly and people would necessarily be more tolerant of each other. All this should reduce crime and hopefully the ridiculous prison population too that was weighing heavily on the tax payer. It was time to look at other systems that were far more successful such as those of Sweden. There they believed that the country’s population owed a duty to those who could not fit into society. The British had tabooed sex as something evil for centuries and had become hysterical, thanks mainly to the media and the Church. The new regime would make very few laws – rape and incest with an Age of Consent at puberty. Religion had virtually gone from Britain, the churches were really struggling for survival so the old fashioned taboos had gone out of the window. Common sense was now beginning to prevail. PUS was intent on common sense and honest policies prevailing above all else. The high proportion of divorce would no longer be because a legal marriage was no longer a necessity. Old British values had to be replaced by modern age common sense – and that meant no-one should harm another being or even an animal – very similar to the Buddhist way of life. Too many people lacked respect for domestic animals, particularly in the Mediterranean countries. The new regime was certainly encouraging common sense and were beginning to understand the nature of people. Yet – no-one could understand why people existed – to what purpose. It was becoming more and more believed in the western world that once flesh and blood, with its chemical reactions, were understood, then it was obvious that once the flesh died, so did the chemistry that made up the soul.
PIG was beginning to think logically in the same way as the west and realise that so many problems of the past have been to no avail. No longer were women to be regarded as inferior beings and dress in a manner that was not only different from the rest of the world but in a manner that was not natural. They had to find some way of conveying the modern way of thinking to the rest of the Muslim world – not an easy task amongst the older generation to say the least because even the young population were inheriting beliefs from their parents and grandparents and their thinking archaic.
It was all very well PUS and PIG re-educating part of the world to modern thinking but there were hundreds of other countries, some of which were only just beginning to learn about religion – hundreds were still worshipping the sun and moon. History has shown that religion has caused more deaths than any other single factor, possibly greed and jealously jointly coming a close second.
Abdu was completely sympathetic and agreed with everything that was beginning to take shape across the water but he had a much more formidable task in finding someone with such ideas and the will to carry them out in the ‘one time super power’. He was determined that their self-imposition on other countries was well and truly a thing of the past. Many self-righteous people had made known their desire to become president but mainly because of their need for power or self-importance. Abdu ordered the destruction of the White House – the incoming President would live in a normal family residence with no more privileges than any other working man. He had scrapped the applications of hundreds without interview. Drawing up a shortlist of the right sort of man to govern such an immense country was no easy task. It was no easier trying to find a suitable team to support such a man if ever they found one. However, he eventually narrowed down the applications to a shortlist of three and then invited the head of GUS and David Goodman to join him in the selection – after all, they necessarily had to work in close cooperation with each other, neither one being subservient to the other. Michael Tindling was invited to help in the selection of the new administrative positions too.
It was commonly agreed that the obvious man for President was an unknown figure in Politics – that in itself was a good point. So it was that Mark Harris was duly sworn in as the President and in place of a Vice President, Matt Baldwin was appointed Prime Minister, thus giving the country a complete change of constitution. In due course, the important ministers would be selected and sworn in; all completely new to the field of politics, though one could say there was a certain amount of politics in their professions. Nobody wanted to see America as a super power but they all knew that in order to succeed, the country had to be divided into smaller sections – not states as everyone knew them – no governors but a four-pointed regional administration answerable to and in co-operation with the new Prime Minister. History and tradition had been cast into obscurity forever – there was to be a completely new start in compliance with the modern world and it was hoped that other global nations would take note and follow suit. If this could be achieved there would be little or no use for a defence programme or indeed a sizeable military force.

GAT was completely dumbfounded at what was going on. The basic American policies were those of Phoenix as a unit; even Hollywood superstars with a gigantic income became ordinary citizens with ordinary incomes – very liveable but nothing outlandish. Tycoons were knocked into reality as their companies were taken over by the state. Mansions were also taken over by the state and the land used to build smaller dwellings. Even the mafia respected what was going on and knew that their criminal days were virtually over. There was no further need to live by threats and fear. There were always those who were too lazy to work and used the numbers game or protection as an easy income but they knew that there was little else left except illicit drugs but with a death penalty hanging over anyone found with illegal substances, there was a total change in attitude and the Columbian barons knew that they had to look to other countries to sell their merchandise but those other countries did not have the finance that their old customers used to provide but even these other countries were beginning to fear for the future. However, GAT members felt quite impotent to do anything at all – there seemed little use for them except in minor states where problems arose from time to time where maybe rebels were trying to take over a country.
Father Jorgensen and Olafsen were so impressed with what was happening that they spent much of their time in conference with the Scandinavian governments, trying to get them to copy what was happening in the western world. This was not such a big task as it would have been in the Mediterranean countries because they were already much nearer to that style of life, though they were currently under pressure from the larger European powers. The Med countries were a law unto themselves, especially in the Balkan region where life could not be compared with any other culture in the world. Those who have never experienced life in the Balkans have never lived! Even EU members had their own laws despite Brussels – they ‘bent’ them to suit themselves. Those brought up in the north and western parts of Europe were brought up to a different culture – all very efficient but very stressful. There may be much to be said for the easy-going style of life where nobody cares about anything. There is the other side of the coin – for example, those ignoring traffic signs (traffic lights to most are just a rough guide and who cares if one drives the wrong way down a one-way street?) often result in serious or fatal accidents. People live for the present and are, perhaps intentionally, short sighted. Who cares about paying bills, or, on the other hand, collecting money owed to them? It’s just another facet of life.
China was beginning to emerge as a superpower but now they saw what was happening the other side of the globe, they wondered whether it was worth the effort. It would take only little to adjust to the new style of government in the West and maybe there would be more co-operation all round. They would soon command the space race because the West had cut right back on their space programme in order to spend more money on finding a way to combat the super bugs and other long standing serious diseases. Nature seems to have a way of keeping down the population by coming up with new apparently incurable illnesses every few years. David Goodman was making health and education his top priorities. His attitude to foreign affairs was that they should sort out their own problems as they had enough of their own to sort out without interfering in affairs that did not directly concern his own people. PIG, under Abdu Malek was becoming the watchdog of the world and was very much regarded as a hero and not a terrorist villain. His team were more trouble-shooters than villains.

There was a rather important detail that Phoenix had overlooked – all federal states of Europe had their own ministers who were elected to the European Parliament. No-one had thought about this and they were naturally still at large. Under the new system Germany and France were the dominating states. Britain would have been the third but a referendum showed dissatisfaction about European membership as they failed to gain anything at all from their participation except large bills to support the minor countries. Spain had progressed beyond all expectancy and was about to join the dominant force. Britain still kept its own currency, refusing to adopt the Euro. However, the German Chancellor was adamant that no-one in the federation would succumb to terrorism. All previous purges only increased hostilities but he was as single-minded as previous presidents of the USA and had not learnt from their bigoted ways. The British European MPs were also up in arms at the coup in Britain. There had been fruitless discussions behind closed doors for some time with the British members claiming that they should be running the country. Goodman’s regime had no interest in becoming part of the federation and was thus popular with the majority of the English. Naturally, the rich who had suffered financial losses were very much opposed to his regime and a few ex Northern Ireland loyalists too but there were insufficient numbers in all to form any formidable opposition.
The German Chancellor decided to call in GAT because he and some of his senior ministers were not going to tolerate any form of pressure from terrorists; after all, they themselves could have been the victims. The problem was that GAT members were secretly supportive of Goodman’s regime and were reluctant to offer support. The French and German presidents had already tried to bring the regime to its feet with sanctions but this failed to work because the country had once again become self sufficient in the way it was several decades ago before foreigners had taken over many of the top industries. The nation was once again beginning to flourish and become self-dependent excepting oil from the Middle East and a few lesser important imports. Even the UN failed to show any real enthusiasm for the German Chancellor’s determination to bring down Goodman’s regime. They could not offer any real suggestions as to how to tackle the situation. America was out on a limb and it was up to them to sort out their own problems. After years of interference into other nations’ affairs around the world, no-one really cared what happened to them. In actual fact they were becoming a much more dependent state and at last were not sticking their noses into others’ affairs. They were realising a fair amount of success but not quite on such a scale as the new British regime.
When the German Chancellor suggested invading Britain there were reminiscences of the world war and there was immediate uproar and opposition to such a preposterous idea. The majority would support at a GAT led force to bring down the regime in their own way but that’s as far as it went. No-one could envisage the British being subjected to air raids and bombing. On the other hand, if elite forces went in to tackle the problem then that would be regarded as tantamount to terrorism but it seemed the better of the two options. The meeting ended with nothing concrete being achieved and the whole matter shelved for a further month while GAT and the European federal states thought things over and tried to come up with a more acceptable plan. The German Chancellor was not at all pleased and some of the minor states showed their distaste by boos and jeering as they left.


Olafsen and Father Jorgensen thought it more apt that the German Chancellor should be brought to heel himself as they did not like his attitude at all. France was less than enthusiastic, for like Spain, they were much dependent on Britain for their wealth of tourism and thus could not muster any enthusiasm at all. Misty and Schnipfler were also in favour of bringing the Chancellor into line with popular thinking, which seemed to make GAT into an alternative terrorist organisation. Britain was being reborn, a modern reformation that was long overdue. Maybe the German Chancellor was envious at what was being achieved in Britain at a time when his own country’s economy was nearing rock bottom.
GAT believed in talk rather than action so they had to go away and find the best way of dealing with the situation. Their first task was to speak to the old British European MPs and try to pacify them. They were now representing a country and government that was opposed to most of what was going on in Europe. There were other smaller countries waiting on the touchline to join the European federation but now that Britain was found to be achieving success on its own, they were very sceptical about joining.

GAT, in fact, were not away very long. They quickly got in touch with Dan Tindale who had them spell-bound with his story of the incredible chase he experienced throughout Europe. He had no hesitation in putting forward his suggestion that would avenge him of his family’s demise and rid the world of the mastermind behind the terrorism that he struck at the heart of the English capital. As all the terrorists who partook in the attack were dead it only remained to deal with the person or people who masterminded the two suicidal missions, assuming that those responsible did not partake themselves. This operation demanded a small elite force but the spadework necessitated finding out who was behind the American attack. Strom Jorgensen and Olafsen volunteered to head the team to make the enquiries but Dan Tindale insisted he also joined the small group; so determined he was to end the spate of terrorism, whereas Misty and Schnipfler were detailed to head the elite squad and all things being equal, eliminate the culprits. At least they knew who to deal with at home but they waited patiently for the outcome of the enquiries which he hoped would lead them to the person behind the American assault. The plan was acceptable to the German Chancellor who felt confident that they would eliminate the terrorist thread.

So the scene was set and GAT was in action to settle the score and hopefully appease all sceptics throughout the world.

To GAT, there was no indication that Phoenix had split itself into two groups, though the leaders of GAT were very aware of the existence of the Phoenix Group and knew that it would be the obvious starting point in the search for those who organised the mass destruction of the American government.
There were some survivors in non-governmental areas, so the obvious places to start were the television studios, where they had seen some of the terrorists in person. All the staff were in fear of reprisals and thus reluctant to speak openly. There were others who wanted personal praise and recognition but their information was of little consequence because most of those described could have fitted half the adult population.
‘Our work is by no means over. We may have found the perpetrator of the massive attack this end but the next part will be much more difficult.’
They all agreed that the type of attack was typical of what had been seen in the Middle East and so there seemed no doubt that there was some sort of Muslim connection. They consoled themselves that there was no IRA or ETA connection because their problems were local and there would be no reason to suppose either had any hand in it.
They left the European side on hold for the time being so that they could concentrate on the American plot. To do this meant infiltrating their organisation and neither Strom Jorgensen nor Sven Olafsen was able to do this so they called upon Steve ‘Misty’ Foggle who was an American citizen, though he had spent most of his life outside the country.
Misty was an out-of-work mercenary, as he put it, looking for a group that would employ him and give him the financial reward he was seeking. He put the word around, keeping a careful eye on the regime in hopes of gaining some information. He frequented bars in the seedier areas of New York and Chicago, expecting to find some sort of lead. Many of the saloons only brought him trouble as he played the tough guy looking for someone to employ him. He found many a mafia boss ready to take him on but he knew that it would not lead him anywhere. He could have made a mint of money had he not been loyal to GAT, for with his qualifications and experience, supported by the necessary references, he could have become a rich man, knowing that it would take many a wily criminal to put one over him. He was nobody’s fool, even on his own. He did not need Schnipfler’s support, valued though it was; he could cope very well on his own.
It was many bars later that he found a young man who had had too much to drink and was boasting about his past achievements. Fortunately, like many Americans, Steve Foggle was circumcised and so could pass himself off as a Muslim. The inebriated young man was easily taken-in by Misty’s supposed credentials, though many were true, and promised to put him in touch with one Ahmed Jaoui, who was Abdu’s second in command, though there was no mention of any positions in the hierarchy. Others in the bar were more suspicious of what was going on, knowing that this young man had gone way beyond the limit of his drinking capacity. Knowing looks and nods were exchanged which meant that when Misty left the bar, there was a small reception waiting for him.
A group of three self-confessed judoka did little to scare the experienced Misty and there was a street fight. Misty let them get the better of him at first but always remaining firmly in control until he thought that enough was enough and started to use his own skills. Bodies went flying through the air and landing in all sorts of weird places including rubbish heaps and dust bins. The young man who had promised to put Misty in touch with Ahmed Jaoui remained inside not caring what happened outside the bar as long as he was not involved.
The dust had not had time settle when there was a surge of police cars with lights flashing and sirens wailing as officers leapt out of the vehicles with their guns at the ready. They forced Misty to assume the necessary position, making him lie on his stomach with his hands behind his back. This was no embarrassment to Steve Foggle but he would have been happier without the interference. He could easily have overcome the police officers but succumbed readily so that there would be no cause to be remanded for any reason at all.
At the police station it took less than an hour to convince the police that he was a government agent on an assignment and that they had ruined his chances of arresting the leaders of a drug smuggling racket. He thought this tack may help convince them of the urgency of his mission.
The police checked his credentials and eventually released him with profuse apologies.
The meeting with Ahmed Jaoui took place the following morning in some sleazy bar down a back street alley. Misty told him of his experience, which was partly true but slightly exaggerated to make him sound a real villain.
‘You must understand that we cannot accept just anybody without a thorough check; neither can we give away any of our own business. One has to be ultra careful these days when there is an anti-Muslim campaign globally. I will get back to you in due course after we have done the necessary checks and of course, after consulting the boss.’ Misty dare not show too much interest in the hierarchy so he refrained from mentioning anything that might raise eyebrows. He gave him a number where he could be contacted – this being a mobile phone he purchased from a pawnshop so that no-one could possibly trace him.
He had already booked into some crumby guesthouse in case he were followed. It would of course be standard practice in such circumstances.
It was no surprise to find that his tail had got in front of him and a gang of three thugs ambushed him. This was standard procedure to test how he would cope in such a situation. They came at him with chains and iron bars and they had obviously been well trained for their kung fu was very effective and Misty had a tougher job on hand than he was prepared for. He managed to dodge most of the blows and let them continue attacking for about five minutes without taking any serious punishment. Then suddenly it was as though a new man had taken over as he changed stance and went headlong into the attack with fists and feet alike. He had no problem in relieving them of their weapons upon which they ran away but Misty was not going to let them off the hook – he was a fast runner and easily caught up with the one at the rear, knocking him to the ground so hard that he could not regain his senses enough to get up and stop Misty from catching the other two who were adequately punished. Misty slapped his hands together as he gave a victorious grin and then melted away into the distance. He sensed there would be a fourth member of the gang lurking around somewhere which was confirmed when someone poked a revolver into his back but this was no threat to Misty’s expertise as he broke the youth’s arm and so the revolver fell to the ground. Now, perhaps I can get to my place without further interruption, he thought.
He returned to his room and rested, patiently waiting for one of the group to contact him the following day. At least it gave him time to regain his strength should he need to use it unexpectedly. He knew that the future held much physical and mental demands so he chose to trim up his body to while away the time.

Dan could not wait for the action that would even up the score: Garee Tomson had to fall and the harder the better, he pondered, though normally he was not a violent or vengeful sort of man. Having met Misty, he was completely confident of the outcome for he had every respect for the man. Tough though he was, he was still very much a law-abiding citizen.
It would be impossible to bring Garee to trial being in command of law and order in the country and violence would place GAT in the same category as the Phoenix groups. How best to deal with him was a difficult problem. There was, however, the criminal court in The Hague who had the authority to deal with such people. Dan Tindale would naturally be the chief witness. Arresting the man might be a different matter altogether but there should be enough support as he had already presented himself on television in the first instance.

The phone rang as was expected. Misty picked it up and spoke calmly, knowing who would be the other end but he was wrong, it was Strom Jorgensen offering his services to deal with the Tomson affair.
’OK, go ahead,’ agreed Misty. ‘It’s a good idea.’
Fr Jorgensen rang the bell at the Tomsons’ home. Flo answered, as was expected. She was little informed as to the dealings with her husband. All she knew was that he was now in a high position of authority in the government and had nothing to do with his affairs. The caller said that her husband had a problem that needed her immediate presence; he was unable to come to the house or contact her himself. She trusted the priest without question but the taxi driver was no ordinary chauffeur. Schnipfler was at the wheel and took her to a private airport. ‘ Where are we going?’ asked Flo, ‘where is my husband at the moment. He didn’t tell me he was leaving the country. I expect him home for his evening meal.’ There was no reply. Schnipfler just continued as though he hadn’t heard.
Flo was soon aboard the small jet and on her way to a very lonely place but there was no intention to harm her – well, not for the time being as everyone knew that she was no driving force behind her husband, just a normal housewife. In no time at all, she was whisked away to an unknown location where there would be no contact with the outside world.
Dan Tindale had been kept up to date with things by Schnipfler and was pleased that all appeared to be turning out well.
Meanwhile, Misty had been contacted and a meeting arranged that resulted in his being accepted into PIG. He was amazed at the size of the organisation and knew that he and his team had more than a formidable task to take them on. At least he was now on the inside and the rest he had to play by ear. It would certainly need a greater force than the elite team they had in place at the time. Although Abdu was obviously the man who masterminded the American stroke, the others in the group were in cahoots and needed removing.

In England there was an embarrassing situation for if rebels had taken over and appointed men in high office who knew that they were put there other than by democratic means, it meant that they too were just as guilty as the terrorists and should theoretically be dealt with in the same way, yet they had put together a very much common sense regime that was popular with the majority of the adult population. The question arose now, should this factor be ignored or the whole regime taken down and democracy returned to the country? It was more in the interest of the nation for everything to remain in place because it was fast becoming the envy of the rest of the world who were hoping to emulate them before long. GAT and PUS each knew that they had to let sleeping dogs lie. Even Dan Tindale admired the work of the new authorities and would have been happy to be part of the team had Garee Tomson not been a part of it.

Strom Jorgensen did not hang around, he sent an errand boy to Garee to tell him that his wife had been abducted and that she was at the hands of criminals who would not think twice about raping her or even carving her up. ‘I don’t care about that cow,’ he replied and carried on as if nothing had happened. Strom Jorgensen was dumbfounded, that was the last response he expected to hear. So now he had to think again or maybe Tomson was bluffing; perhaps he did care because it was difficult to believe that anyone could be so callous. Now Jorgensen had to find another means of luring Garee out of England and preferably out of an EU state. An immediate country came to mind and a good reason for getting him there. An invitation for Garee and his number two to attend a meeting in Switzerland with a reason that would give Garee the opportunity for more power. Although the English regime was now rid of such megalomaniacs, Garee was the exception so this could be his Achilles’ heel. Invitations would have to be in writing and on official paper with an authentic-looking stamp and signatures.

Misty knew that there was no way he could deal with this alone. He learnt, however, that they were based in Morocco somewhere between Tangiers and Tetouan. The former, being a tourist city would be easy to assemble some more of the lesser-known members of GAT. He still had not met Abdu Malek but he was expected to meet him in Morocco. At least this gave him a certain amount of leeway and could contact Schnipfler and get him to get a team into Morocco.

Garee swallowed the bait and he was soon on his way to Switzerland and the small capital of Berne but he wanted to be the sole representative and so he made the excuse that his second in command had to remain in the country to deal with any urgent contingencies that may arise in his absence. Olafsen arranged a welcoming party as soon as Garee set foot on Swiss soil and was duly arrested on the charge of multiple murder. Flo was duly informed about her husband and believing him to be an honest and upright citizen, protested and demanded to see a lawyer immediately but that only made matters worse for when she was interviewed by a lawyer who was delegated, she just learnt more and more that she just could not believe possible about the loving husband she had known for almost twenty years. As for Garee’s callous remark on being told that his wife had been kidnapped by rapists and murderers, she went into a psychotic frenzy. Her life had now been completely turned upside down.
Dan Tindale was delighted by the result, needless to say but expressed sympathy for Flo who was genuinely ignorant of her husband’s criminal activities. She reflected upon the night she and her husband helped Dan Tindale but had no idea that he was behind the whole affair more that he was being kind and helpful.

With Misty now in Tangiers, the heat was on. It would be no easy job to take out any single member of PIG. This would require a lot of planning and there would be little opportunity for Misty to be involved in the initial work so it would fall upon Jorgensen, Schnipfler and Olafsen to come up with the brains for an operation. Meanwhile, other GAT members were entering the country in dribs and drabs. Some based themselves in Ceuta, a Spanish enclave a few kilometres away. Acquiring weapons in a country that is basically Arab, though they would deny that themselves because they call themselves Berbers, would be a nigh on impossible task if they thought that they were going to be used against fellow Muslims. Not that all Moroccans are devout Muslims – they drink alcohol and have covert relationships with women out of marriage and occasionally eat pork – when confronted about these matters they say it is all right because it is just between them and their God. Maybe a touch of smuggling over the border may be the answer, especially if the Spanish were sympathetic to the cause of GAT. Having had terrorist problems with ETA and some Spanish already members of GAT, it may not be quite so difficult as first thought.

In Wales, singing could once more be heard in the valleys as the coal and steel industries, which had been dead for such a long time, were now buzzing with work. New plants were opening up and there was life in the country again. The Highlands, one of the world’s last wastelands, were bringing people back out of the cities and there was pride in every family’s contribution to their country. As for England, there was work for everyone as all foreign-owned companies were re-possessed and there was more than enough work for everyone. The Health Service, which had become apathetic and with doctors taking up posts in other countries, were beginning to get their act together and new hospitals were being built with special facilities for student doctors and nurses. One of Goodman’s main concerns was Education. The embarrassment of the sixties had to be washed out and the nitty-gritty of basic education had to be re-introduced. Teaching used to be a vocation for decades but so many teachers left the profession because they were scared that any good teacher would be tarred with the image of paedophilia about which the public had become hysterical so recruits to the profession were there because they had a brain and it was another means of earning a salary. The old maxim of ‘Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach,’ was no longer true because it took too long to realise that the very clever could not impart their knowledge; one had to have a love of imparting knowledge and a genuine interest in those they taught.
Crime in all three countries was at a record low and the prisons were fast emptying as the new laws were common sense and with work being plentiful and the poor and pensioners now respectable members of society, there was little reason to steal from fellow citizens or defraud honest companies. Once again, after over five decades, people wanted to help each other and not just care about themselves. The transformation in such a short time was fantastic.
In America, the transformation was less dramatic because they had to be seen to be squeaky clean and there was so much undoing to do before building that it was a much slower process. At least they were now coping on their own and not interfering with other countries – and that was a major development. Changing attitudes had to be seen by the rest of the world and that was no easy task. Their regime hoped it would not be long before other countries welcomed them as tourists again.
Naming the new English regime was a point of contention as they were unlike any other known party. Much though was being given to this so that all nations would know what they stood for. It was basic common sense living, so that was it – no gimmicks, just the CSLP, the Common Sense Liking Party. Wales and Scotland liked that idea too and thought to add an extra letter to prefix the party with the country so there were now the WCSLP, (Welsh), the SCSLP (Scottish) and the ECSLP (English). America, as always, had to be different and came up with the New American Renaissance Party, or NARP.



CHAPTER 14

There was no real use for PUS any longer and with Garee Tomson now gone, it was advisable to disband and announce to all European countries that it lo longer existed, thus adding more credibility to the new type of politics that was emerging. Even the major players in Europe were beginning to think in the lines of the British example. Spain, Austria, Italy and Germany certainly showed interest whereas France, the old Anglophobe was too proud to follow anyone but themselves.
PIG, on the other hand was a different matter and they had been making their presence felt in many Middle Eastern countries. Their latest bout of terrorism had been hitting Iran.
Up in the Er Rif, south of Tetouan lay a very old and sleepy town of Chechaouene where GAT were gathering under the pretext of tourists. The natives were very friendly and went out of their way – for a dirham or two of course. Honesty was not one of their strongest assets but they could be relied on to find anything at the right price. The only problem was that they could never keep anything to themselves and so one would be inundated with indigents offering to obtain whatever one had just paid a high price for in order to keep secrecy. So it was not a good idea to mention any form of weapons to them, except the odd antique in the souks. Even in the loneliest spots in the hills, one could not use an odd tree to urinate without a ‘lurk’ appearing out of nowhere, even in the middle of the night. The only way for GAT members to get together to discuss anything was to have a booze-up in a tent, knowing that they would be spied upon but unlikely to be approached. Tourists like beer, especially the men-folk, so they would not be out of place. There was always the chance that someone looking for a dirham or two would take one aside and offer every carnal pleasure possible. That was a chance they would have to take – at least they could make verbal contact during one of these gatherings, which they decided to do every night. Father Jorgensen decided it wiser to wear ordinary clothes as a catholic priest would not be very welcome in a Muslim country, though they tolerated the Church of England priest in the little church in Tangiers. Strom Jorgensen was one of the brains in the GAT leadership and everyone respected him so that his suggestions were always considered practical and sensible.

It was pure chance that on the second night of their meeting, none of the GAT leadership was present. The others were well into their second hour of partying when one at a time the members were being dragged into the scrubland and their throats cut. It was some time before one of the party noticed that their numbers were depleted; it seemed impossible that PIG knew of their presence but obviously they did – but how? Did they have a mole amongst them? Had some local overheard what someone said? That was highly unlikely as anything to do with their presence there was spoken in covered tones. Yet somehow they did know. GAT members were all without any firearms and the enemy were well concealed. They knew that it would be at least three days before they had access to such weapons. Snowy White called them together as a matter of urgency. They noticed that their members were disappearing but they had no idea why or how. At first they thought they had found a bit of skirt and took them into the bushes but they realised that it was highly unlikely as others would have known. Most of them had knives with them but that was the extent of their armoury.
They had been taken by surprise and without anything to protect themselves. With only twelve of them left, they decided to pack up, remain together until they reached their accommodation and retreat along the main road. Snowy White knocked on the door of Schnipfler and reported what had happened. There was shock at the news but nothing with PIG was a complete surprise – they were well trained in all forms of combat and tactics.
Jorgensen, the brains, was notified immediately which meant that his already thought-out plans were relegated to the scrap heap. Now they had to find some other means of bringing down PIG and especially Abdu. Jorgensen had some serious thinking to do and they were on foreign soil, which the locals knew far better than GAT.

PIG was obviously efficient and well organised, let alone well informed. So now there had to be a radical change of plans but what?
They managed to slip away without further loss of life.

There were no volunteers in GAT, surprisingly enough, to go on a suicide mission and blow up the PIG headquarters whilst they were all in one place, so some other means had to be found to bring them down and finish off that sector of Phoenix. PIG was obviously alerted to the presence of some enemy force and would therefore strengthen their security all round making it even more difficult for GAT who were not used to working in the sort of heat they were experiencing in northern Morocco. The burning question was how did the opposition know of their presence? Maybe time would tell.
Michael Tindling was in touch to find out how the mission was going and was naturally very disappointed at the news. He wished the team good luck and hoped that the news would be good the next time they spoke as his government was hoping for a quick end to the problem so that with Garee out of the way, they could continue with legitimate business provided there was no interference from PIG. He wanted and end to that sector and hoped that other offshoots of the group had not started up in other countries around the globe.
The court in the Hague had not wasted time and quickly found Garee Tomson guilty on all accounts of multiple murder and condemned him to life imprisonment there in a special prison which really meant the rest of his life. Flo did not go to the trial and quickly filed for a divorce so that she could continue her life in reasonable normality.

Father Jorgensen was operating on territory he knew to be difficult not to mention a well-trained force in opposition. He was at a loss how to tackle the situation with minimum loss to his team. They moved their meeting place to the openness of the Tetuan city and took shelter in the home of a martial arts expert one of them had contacted during his tour of the city shortly after entering the country. He was a real gentleman and offered them his house whenever they wanted it. ‘You will be safe here, ’he said, ’both from the excessive heat and those you are hiding from.’
Olafsen duly thanked the family and they did just as they were asked, ‘My house is yours,’ he offered the senior members of GAT. It was too much to expect the others to join in and so they each sought independent accommodation elsewhere.
The food seemed pleasant enough but hygiene on the whole was well below what they were used to even under canvas. At least they were all now much nearer PIG’s headquarters which were unknown to most of the population. The fact that they were attacked bothered Snowy White and much of his time was spent in meditatio0n trying to work out who had led them to their meeting place in the hills. Although their host was an honest man, they decided that they would not hint at the real reason for their presence. All their uniforms and smuggled weapons were carefully stashed away in a spot between Tangiers and Tetuan in hopes that no lurk would spot their hiding place, which was certainly well concealed from all and sundry. There was no hope whatsoever of acquiring any form of transport whether on land, sea or air. PIG’s headquarters were well and truly fortified and it now remained to find out who the mole was and to find a way of destroying PIG’s complete outfit. Neither task was anything less than a major challenge despite Misty being n the inside. Had they discovered who Misty was? Did he have any clue as to the mole because they received no warning from him? He had to be the key man in the situation but there was no way of contacting him. The local Muslim community were no allies when it came to trouble with fellow Muslims – so GAT had to be extra careful, and their continued presence in the area only served to arouse suspicion.
To add to their problems, one of the younger GAT members got into a scrape with a local pimp who tried to palm him off with some young flesh. Fortunately, the locals only gave the impression of being aggressive but as soon as someone turned the tables and decided to give them some agro in return then they became complete cowards and ran away. To exacerbate the situation the weather became hot and sticky, something that GAT members found difficulty in coping with and gave the opposition a distinct advantage. So, all in all, there was a distinct shortage of plans that promised a successful conclusion to the affair. They had to fight fire with fire yet they had Misty on the inside and their top man was quite impotent to make any sort of contribution. He had been excluded from the sortie that reduced the GAT members at their nightly meeting. He knew nothing of it until the next day when he overheard the PIG members talking about it. He was sad beyond belief and the adrenalin well up inside him which spurred him on to find a method of dealing with these terrorists. He looked for their weaknesses but found little that would be of any consequence.
Misty knew that it would effectively disrupt things b y cutting off the head, though there was always someone ready to stand in their shoes. It was very difficult to end Abdu’s life as he was always well protected, just like any mafia group, surrounded by his elite bodyguard. So now he had to think of a plan that would turn them against each other and at the same time hopefully find out who the mole was that led them to GAT’s evening activities. Some things in life will always remain a mystery and people go to their graves not knowing the answer. However, Misty’s resolve was absolute and it was now time for action instead of being the perfect member for the PIG team. Maybe somebody within suspected him from the beginning and was ready to stick the knife in but he had to get in first. He reflected on the Vietnam days and how he not only survived but managed to reduce the population of the Vietcong. He was used to the hot sticky climate; he was used to danger; he was aware of all the traps. Yet now he was quite unsure how to deal with the present situation. It would be easy to steal into his tent and slash his throat but on their home ground the risk was far too great.
The next day, word was all around the camp that GAT had moved their operational headquarters but fortunately, nobody knew where they were. It would be too obvious if he tried to set them against each other; it had to be far more subtle.
There was no doubt that Misty had made friends within the group but there was bigger doubt as to whom he could trust. He remembered his father saying ‘Trust nobody, not even your own father’ who demonstrated by sending him up uq ladder and asked his father to hold the ladder firm with his feet and hands and then found that he was falling to the ground because his father went away and left him stranded alone.
He wondered if Abdu had been given a similar lesson and did not trust him wholly. He had to assume the worst.

Father Jorgensen, Olafsen and Scnipfler were at a total loss and were each hoping that Misty would come up with some sort of plan, being on the inside. They were suggesting all sorts if plans, none of which would bear any sort of fruit. ‘We’re lost,’ suggested Snowy White, ‘ we may as well return home. I am completely out of ideas, and Misty hasn’t contacted us.’
‘Have faith, my son,’ urged Father Jorgensen,’ all is not lost – yet,’ he added.
‘OK,’ said Olafsen, ‘ but that’s all very well,’ but5 we can’t leave Misty on his own. After all, he is the professional.’
‘Fair enough,’ added Olafsen.
AS it happened, Misty had enough ricin as to wipe out all the group, but how was he to administer it?
Fortunately, Misty had made friends with the cooks, being a man that needed constant refreshment, so it was not difficult to gain access to the canteen.
Whilst the cooks were busy with preparation for breakfast, he helped himself to a huge sandwich and at the same time he planted ricin in the tea for the rest of the company.
It was a chance he had to take. There were times that one had to take a chance or just leave well alone.
Misty decided to divert attention by playing a practical joke. He found the tanks that fed the water and planted some green dye so that all who took a shower were well and truly green.
Most of PIG thought it a huge joke but there was one who was suspicious of the whole affair.
Misty knew this person to be a sceptic and arranged for his sudden departure surreptitiously. Being a minor member of PIG, noticed his disappearance – thank goodness, but it was a chance that Misty had to take.

It was breakfast time the next day and as PIG lined up for their meal, ricin was everywhere, especially in the tea but no-one suspected a thing let alone a throw-back to Misty. This section of PIG had to cease to exist if the modern world were to thrive in a civilised manner. The ricin diminished the group considerably but unfortunately it did not affect Abdu. He hated tea, anyway. His bodyguards were either dead or extremely sick which caused the leader considerable concern. So, the head had not been chopped off the organisation but it was left very weakened.
That night the GAT leadership, ignorant of the fact that PIG was depleted, decided they had to take action and move in. They realised this meant a shoot-out and it was quite possible that they would lose most of their members but it was a chance they had to take. Misty would have to play it by ear, as there was no way of contacting him.
Smuggled weapons had been brought into Morocco by sea and found their way to the GAT headquarters. If there were a mole in the camp then the enemy would know they were coming that night and would obviously prepare an ambush – if not, then the mole was in the GAT camp, or maybe even a total stranger to either outfit.
Misty, by now, was a valued and much respected member of PIG and so it was not at all surprising that Abdu called for him and told him that his body guards were all sick and that he was needed to stand in and protect Abdu. Naturally, Misty took this in his stride and told Abdu that he felt very privileged, which pleased the leader’s ego quite considerably.
This was an ideal opportunity for Misty to dispose of Abdu but the leader told him that they had an important mission in another country and that they must depart within the hour. Abdu did not mention where they were going but they had to fulfil a task in Algiers which would involve several members who were quite prepared to die for the cause but as Misty’s responsibilities were solely to guard Abdu, he was not asked to sacrifice his life. Misty inwardly gave a sigh of relief as he had never been asked to give his life for any cause before.
Their arsenal was certainly more stocked than GAT’s and the necessary equipment was gathered together for a sea trip into Algeria. This journey had obviously been made before as they seemed to know the route as well as they knew the local roads.

As it grew dark, Schnipfler and his men prepared for the assault, not knowing that the camp was deserted. There had been much preparation and training for the operation but they had no idea that they were not going to face any opposition at all. Misty had been unable to get in touch and tell them of their plans, neither had they a chance of telling Misty of their own intentions and to make sure he did not get involved in the line of fire.
Father Jorgensen could not believe the tranquillity of the place and thought that they had got wind of their visit or at the very least, were waiting in ambush. They scoured the area but there was no sign of them. ‘Maybe they’ve moved their camp,’ suggested Snowy White.
‘Maybe they have gone to attach us,’ suggested Olafsen.
‘Too many “maybes”, said Father Jorgensen. ‘Anyway, let’s proceed and have a look around. We could lay some traps for them for when they return,’ said Snowy White.
What they were not prepared for was that the camp had been booby-trapped just in case some nosey characters came around.
They approached with caution, Strom Jorgensen leading. From a distance all was as though everyone had fled in haste. They looked for telltale signs from Misty, but there was nothing. Schnipfler began to get worried.
‘Enough of that,’ reprimanded Strom Jorgensen, ‘You know very well Misty can look after himself.’
‘It’s easy to be too confident and then you get caught when you are not expecting trouble,’ said Olafsen.

Misty was well on his way to Algeria, acting as the perfect bodyguard along with all the PIG members which now numbered only eighteen in all. Their mission was to place a few car bombs in strategic places. They knew that there would be less of them on the return journey having volunteered with trepidation to sacrifice their lives for what they believed to be a great cause.
Before they left, they removed all evidence of their ever having been in Morocco so they knew that if someone stumbled upon their camp, they would gain no information whatsoever – and that is exactly what had happened. To leave a booby trap would only signal to the locals that something was amiss and to leave one item of equipment would have been suicide – but Misty was no fool.
He knew that his colleagues would come looking for him to acquire news of PIG’s activities and if possible to arrange a meet to discuss plans. Being so close to Abdu, there was no chance of contact with the outside world. –they had seriously wounded body guards on their hands – it would have been foolish to take them to the hospital or even a private doctor as too many questions would be asked so Misty was given the unenviable job of disposing with the maimed bodyguards – that meant first killing them and then disposing of the bodies. This gave him the opportunity he was waiting for. There were two of them waiting to die so the first job was to brainwash them and instil into them that Abdu had ordered their deaths. The next job was to put them in a place where PIG would not be likely to go but he had to dig two shallow graves nearby to look as though he had obeyed Abdu’s orders. This done he had to convey to them about Abdu’s instructions but there was a language barrier. However, it was easy to understand their leader’s name and the rest had to be gesticulations. One could visibly see the ire within them as they were told about Abdu’s orders. The fact that he had not killed them enabled him to befriend them but Misty did not trust people sufficiently to give anything away. Neither was in a fit state to walk, in fact one of them only had an hour or two to live. The other started to shout from within the bushes when they saw the GAT team looking around. Thinking that he would be getting revenge on Abdu, he told them that Abdu had gone to Algiers. He tried to indicate that they would not be returning.
The first thing Olafsen did was to get in touch with the authorities in Algeria and warn them of an impending terrorist attack. The burning question was, would Abdu make Misty go on a suicide mission and then replenish his stock of bodyguards from Algeria? There would be no shortage of volunteers, especially as they were well paid. Danger was no problem to the ardent Muslim, depleted though their following was.

Misty had to take out Abdu at the earliest possible moment – for the time being he was the one and only bodyguard and was trusted implicitly. He knew that PIG was now short of members and that Abdu would try to recruit more members from this Muslim country so Misty had to act fast before he had chance to do this. He also believed that GAT would, by now, be on their way, assuming at least one of the old bodyguards was still alive. However, he knew better than to take things for chance and so had to act on his own initiative as the opportunity arose. He was also aware that there was a mole somewhere but he had no idea at all whether he was in the GAT camp or the PIG or even some independent informer on PIG’s payroll.
PIG could not just roll into Algeria en bloc therefore the terrorists had to make their own way there in ones and twos and then meet up in the capital.
Abdu and Misty hired a taxi to convey them to a suitable pre-arranged meeting place. The burning question was whether Misty should take out Abdu before they arrived or later. What advantage would there be in waiting for GAT other than having some sort of support near at hand? He knew, or rather, hoped, that the authorities would be prepared for them and would scrutinise every person et«ntering the country whether male or female. There was no sexual preference where terrorism was concerned – even though females were of lesser importance than the males in the Muslim world, as far as terrorists were concerned, there was no difference.
What to do, pondered Misty. I could easily take out their leader now but is it the wise thing to do or not? Misty was just at home with a knife as he was with a gun or even his hands. Even if he ended Abdu’s life, it would not be the end of PIG or terrorism but it would a serious blow that would set them back years.
Misty Foggle had a duty as a fellow member of GAT, to rid the world of terrorism and avenge Dan Tindale at the same time.

Could the world exist without GAT or any other anti-terrorist organisation? The modern day answer was no – except – in an almost utopian world that Britain and America were now adopting - their outlook had changed beyond recognition; they were unlikely to expect any terrorist attack on their home ground now that they were no longer interfering in other countries’ affairs.

OK, this was it. The taxi, as ordered, dropped the pair well into the suburbs of the city. The other sixteen were well on their way to the meeting place just outside the city. ‘I have to make a move very quickly,’ thought Misty. ‘I owe it to my colleagues and to those who have suffered at the hands of these animals.’
There was far less likelihood of PIG using this country to increase their numbers without their leader so it was imperative that Misty acted before they met up with the others.
‘We need to increase our membership,’ commented Abdu, ‘These people would certainly be committed if we choose wisely but they would need a hell of a lot of training to be of any use to us. Our main training camps are in Afghanistan and Libya,’ he added.
Slowly, Misty withdrew his knife. Abdu could not possibly have seen such a covert movement rather some instinct told him that he was in danger. He swung around and caught Misty by surprise and there followed an immediate tussle, each struggling to take command of the knife. Abdu was really strong and was chosen for his quick actions both physically and mentally. It was quite a secluded spot so the scuffle did not attract any attention. Each gained the upper hand in turn for a few seconds but neither could control the knife. They knew they were each fighting for their lives. Misty tried to grab a nearby stone but just could not reach it.
Eventually Abdu had control and was about to plunge the knife into Misty but miraculously he just seemed to hang in the air as though instantly frozen by some magic spell coming from a Mortal Kombat character. They had in actual fact drawn the attention of a man in a block of flats who was watching through a pair of binoculars and had phoned the police. As they had already been expecting the arrival of the group from Morocco, they were very much on the ball. They did not want to be embarrassed by another international incident. It was a perfect sniper’s shot that came from the same window as the man with the binoculars. The police had gone to his place immediately, saw what was happening and acted on impulse whilst another car tore around the corner and disgorged a troop of plain clothes policeman, heavily armed who removed Abdu from on top of Misty and then duly arrested the GAT leader.
It did not take long for Misty to prove his identity and then gave information about the others entering the city. The other GAT members were still in the air at the time and saw what had happened on the TV news.
Each PIG member was recognised and duly arrested but there was still a mystery as to the identity of the mole. The GAT team had no intention of returning to Morocco so that was of no importance.

The perpetrators of the two acts of terrorism were now seen around the world to have been dealt with in a satisfactory manner and nations were now studying the progress of the new style regimes of –Britain and America.

GAT decided to continue in its present form and attracted more members. PUS was virtually knocked out of business but PIG remained a force to be feared and were continuing training under a new leadership which was remote from recent events. They were now being monitored so they had to be seen to be inactive as they knew they would be the first to be suspected by anyone in the world if there was any form of terrorism.

It is accepted that modern day warfare is cowardly and underhanded in such a way that no-one knows who their enemy is any more. The recent problems leading to a change of regime in Britain and America were tantamount to ending this kind of warfare but it will always continue where there is unrest. It has to be said that many acts of terrorism have been carried out as a last resort against bigots and such drastic action has been the only means for victims’ voices to become more than a mere whisper in a global stadium.






The author wishes to point out that this story does not in any way express his personal views, as he abhors any form of violence whatsoever. The characters in the book are purely fictional and bear no resemblance to any known person living or dead.
















Copyright: Robert Kalton, 2003







Tiago Tillin was born in Wales in 1935 and has spent most of his life in teaching (which he now regrets). ‘It Could Happen’ is his second novel, the first being ‘Taboo Past.’ These books were written as an occupation against boredom in retirement. He feels great sympathy for the underprivileged and hopes that the reader will become more favourably and honestly sensitive to these people.















IT COULD HAPPEN

By


TIAGO TILLIN

Synopsis

Minister for the environment, Dan Tindale, fought his way home down the befogged A1. It was a journey surrounded in mystery but there was no way he could have foreseen what lay in wait for him at home - or more precisely, what didn't await him there. This was only the tip of a vast iceberg.

Many activist groups had started out with good intentions throughout the world but had become so disillusioned at the negligible consequences of peaceful action that they turned to terrorism to make themselves heard and to ensure that they had become a force to be reckoned with, someone had the courage to join them together under the name of the Phoenix Group which contained some of the highest trained assassins in the world. Who had masterminded such a group?

Environmental ministers or their families were being targeted from Norway to Japan, Britain to Thailand and even Zimbabwe where a very strong faction had surfaced. There was one common thread in this wave of violence: the international convention in Vienna where many sensitive topics were to be discussed with view to combat terrorism.

A casual news item in a German daily caught the attention of Greenpeace activist and Green Party leader, Martin Schnipfler on holiday in Austria. Alarm bells rang in his mind on reading a report that the parents of the Thai environment minister were missing. Reading about other similar reports from around the world caused him to make a phone call to Vietnamese veteran, Stephen Foggle.

So the race was on as the Phoenix Group of terrorists tried to neutralise the more important governmental ministers before the Vienna convention.

Efforts were being intensified to cut off the Phoenix Group's tentacles - but once one had been severed, others seemed to gain in strength.

Then the unthinkable happened as both Britain and America were thrown into chaos. As both governments were brought down.











The Book


CHAPTER 1

The aura of the befogged A1 deepened his concentration, jettisoning to the hold section of his memory the thoughts of Clare and the children who had earlier been foremost in his mind. I wonder what's for dinner to-night - whatever it is, it's sure to be cremated by the time I get home, he mused. Driving on the central white line was not the cleverest way to travel in the fog - certainly not on such a main arterial road as the A1 - it only needed one person driving in the opposite direction with the same idea and it would be goodbye world. I ought really to telephone Clare and tell her I'll be late, he considered, but then discarded the idea no sooner than it was conceived - let's plod on, he sighed as he hugged the kerb once more, keeping his speed below 20mph as his fog lights blazed into the opaqueness of the night, unable to pierce the looming blankets as they swirled and danced like flitting phantoms trying to invade the sacred sanctuary of the heated interior of his Sirocco.
Red eyes appeared without warning, like demons daring him to tread their bewitched territory, forcing him to brake yet again at the risk of inviting boot-huggers to reshape his luggage space. How many times had he come across a red tail light in the fog and stuck closely to it? He switched off the radio which had begun to lull him into a drowsy plain; then he opened the side window, sticking out his head for a breath of fresh air to jolt him back into full consciousness. Nicht hinauslehnen! He remembered the sign on German trains so well - the warning not to lean out of travelling windows; it's so easy to be decapitated or splattered on the support of an approaching bridge. The blaring of a horn forced him to swerve drastically - he checked, and in so doing, mounted the kerb, giving himself an unpleasant shock, thrusting the steering wheel into gyration so that he had to release it momentarily, involuntarily.
At length he considered taking a wee diversion to look for a place to stop overnight, but his mind was given a further jar as the car that had overtaken him suddenly swung in front and came to a stop. 'Pig's ass!' he cursed and braked as hard as his foot would allow, not giving time to look in the mirror. There was a resounding scrunch as he was hit from behind. His body whip lashed severely, almost snapping his neck. An irate driver forced his way out of his concertina-ed crate and stormed over, launching forth into an unrepeatable verbose orgasm that could have been heard in Liverpool. Dan had the presence of mind to lock his door to avoid any onslaught of physical violence that was certain to follow the verbal diarrhoea. He wasn't at all sure that the raging motorist wouldn't smash in the glass and launch himself at him through the side window. By now, thoughts of the car in front were far from being foremost in his mind; after all, it was that silly bugger who had caused the accident in the first place - he was the one who should be raging at the driver in front. He had not noticed that the offending chariot had quickly engaged gear and whizzed off into obscurity at high speed, leaving scapegoat Dan, as usual, to carry the can. He was paid to carry the can, to have other people's ulcers - the price of being an MP. 'Great!' he thought, 'now what do I do?' Just then there was a second bang, and a third, and a fourth, as other cars piled up so that Mr Irate's car behind had been well and truly squatted both ends.
Within minutes, the police arrived amidst blaring sirens and a modicum of sanity was forced upon the raging throng of motorists. The whole incident cost Dan a couple of hours and a dented boot, as if he weren't late enough as it was. A burnt meal's a burnt meal's a burnt meal he conceded. He resolved to get home to-night whatever time it may be, ignoring a warning of the looming fog whispering a 'stay away.....stay away.....' to him.
On the main road and relaxing a little now, Dan turned on the radio again, tuning in to the FM band. There was a screech of static and then he found he was eavesdropping on a conversation. 'I fixed him OK, that will give us at least another hour's edge. It will all be clear by the time......' and then it faded away. He moved along the wave band trying to seek it out again but to no avail. It came as a shock to hear, 'Dan.... Dan.... Dan Tindale.... dale..... dale....' dwindling to a whisper with a sort of wow to it. 'That's my name,' he shouted aloud at the realisation, but then, 'Na, I'm starting to imagine things; that's what becomes of listening to songs like Schubert's Earl King.' He inserted a James Last tape, but instead of the cascading strings of Romeo and Juliet, there was a whisper, a disembodied voice that grew louder and louder as though a chorus were being orchestrated and conducted to the tune of Dan....Dan....Tindale...., we're watching you.' The whole built up to a terrific crescendo, causing him to take his hands off the steering wheel and clasp them over his ears. He then returned his hands slowly to the wheel as the chorus died to the echoes of an ululating 'ale....ale....ale,' as though it had been recorded in an echo chamber. He switched off the machine and sat back shocked, afraid to stop lest he cause another pile-up.
Past Norman Cross the fog began to thin out - he looked through the side window and was relieved to find that he could see well into the fields on the right. The lights were quite bright - lights? - in a field? He turned away and then suddenly looked back in a double take as the formation of the lights registered in his mind - 'DAN TINDALE' was glaring at him in coloured lights. He pinched himself to see if he were awake or was all this a nightmare? He rubbed his eyes which had started to smart with tiredness, still in a subdued state of shock.
'Beware – Road works Ahead!' announced an advanced warning, then there were further reminders as the road narrowed with the arrival of a regiment of cones. 'Traffic Lights Ahead' announced another sign. As he expected, they were red. 'Come on, come on, I've had enough to-night,' he complained audibly. Ten minutes evaporated in an age, and still they had not changed. A youth darted around the traffic. 'Like an ev'ning paper, Mr Tindale?' asked a red-faced lad with a balaclava as he pressed his face against the side window, distorting his features. Dan opened the window - 'Thanks!' he called and passed the lad a fifty pence piece, putting the paper beside him and changed gear ready to tear off. Yet again he did a double take. "Like a paper, MR TINDALE" - Mr Tindale - how the hell did he know his name? He yelled after the lad but it was too late. The lights were still red. He looked in the mirror and then to each side - there were no cars. There was a huge tailback only moments ago. He turned to the front again to find the lights flicking from amber to red. 'Damn!' Within seconds there was a barrage of blaring horns as traffic materialised from nowhere. Another delay, but this time he was going to fix his gaze on the lights and nothing but nothing would distract him, so he wouldn't miss them changing a second time. After a half hour's wait he made his getaway.
It was a little after ten thirty when he finally pulled into the drive of his detached neo-Georgian house. No lights left on. Can't blame her really, he thought, Clare must have gone to bed fed up with waiting. He turned the key in the lock, exhausted from his traumatic drive, stepped into the hall and slammed the door behind him. It resounded around the whole house. Sh! he told himself, you'll wake them up, then he realised that it was much more resonant than usual. He fumbled for the light switch - strange, the lights didn't work. Dan did not smoke so there was no lighter to hand to help him. Feeling for the mains behind the door, he found it and discovered that it was in the off position. Stranger and stranger; his heart began to pound. He remedied the situation with a quick flick of the lever. Why on earth would they be off? He turned on the light which obeyed his touch but he just could not believe what he saw, or rather what he didn't see. The place was completely bare - no furniture. He dashed into the lounge, turned on the light - nothing, no furniture - nothing! He called upstairs, but Clare's name echoed back at him - then, 'Tym, Kim!' he called his children, but there was no reply, just the haunting reverberation of his own voice. He rushed upstairs - bare - no furniture, no note, nothing! Panic seized him but then rationalisation took hold of him as he controlled himself and remembered that he was still a healthy thirty-five-year-old, otherwise he would have suffered a cardiac arrest - as it was, his heart was beating a tattoo on his chest.
He rushed to his study where one wall was usually lined from floor to ceiling with books. He automatically reached out to his desk for the phone - but there was no phone, no desk, no books - nothing. 'Damn, damn, damn!' He staggered to the stairs and collapsed on the bottom one, withdrew the paper that he had stuffed in his pocket. No wonder the paper lad had known his name - there, staring him right in the face was a picture of himself under the caption, 'Wanted for Questioning! He made an attempt to read the article but it was shaking so much that he had to place it on the stairs to control it whilst he pored over it. There was another picture alongside his - that of a middle-aged Oriental businessman but neither the face nor the name was familiar. One thing was for certain - it was far too dangerous to be hanging around his house. Why should he be wanted for questioning and why was there a picture of this businessman - surely there is no connection, he had never seen the man before in his life – at least that was what he believed at the time. His thinking was becoming irrational in his abject state of shock. Maybe his neighbours had heard or seen something. This is an emergency and assured himself there was just reason for knocking them up so late. His diary at the Commons, he remembered, showed that he had an appointment with an Oriental gentleman - maybe it's the same one, he considered.
There were still lights on all around his neighbours' house - at least someone must be up, he thought – there are too many lights for there to be burglar deterrents. Why should he be thinking of burglars? Garee was still up so at least there would be someone to share his problems. That made him feel much more at ease already.
'Good heavens!' Garee gasped as he saw his friend propping up his door jamb. 'You look as though you've seen a ghost,' not realising how close to the truth he had come. Dan would normally have had a hysterical outburst at the irony of the situation had it not been so serious. He couldn't even force a smile. 'You'd better come in and have a stiff drink,' Garee went on. 'Flo!' he called upstairs, 'It's Dan, come down please, it’s urgent.' A slim middle-aged blonde appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a black and gold silk dressing gown; she was rather embarrassed at appearing with curlers in her hair.
'What's the matter, dear?' Then she noticed her ashen neighbour in the hall. 'Good God, Dan, you look awful, what's the matter?'
By the time Dan had relayed the events of the evening to his long-standing friends, it was nigh on midnight, but he had begun to relax after a few Whisky Macs. 'I think you'd better stay here the night,' Flo suggested, 'and then Garee can help you sort out things in the morning. She then proceeded upstairs to the spare room to make up the bed and tidy up a few things. It's better to sleep on it if you can; it's no use worrying about things you cannot do anything about to-night.'
'That's very kind of you, Flo, but I must move the car - just in case the police come around looking for me - I don't appear to be au fait with them at the present, the problem is that I don’t know why.'
If I stand a chance of finding Clare, he thought, I need to take a closer look at the house now I'm thinking a little more rationally. There may just be something that could give me a clue as to what on earth is going on. It hadn’t dawned on him at the time that if he were wanted, there should be at least one policeman keeping an eye on the house. If he could just find one, he might stand a chance of knowing what had happened to his family. Clare would never have gone without leaving a note, so she must have been taken against her will. As he turned the key in the lock, his heart began to pound as pictures loomed in his mind like an action replay going over and over the events of the evening in slow motion, testing his emotions, but the wind was taken out of his sails as he turned on the light - perhaps he had missed it earlier when he was in a state of panic, but there in front of him was a warning on the fitted mirror in the hall written in lipstick. 'TINDALE...MURDERER - WE'LL GET YOU'. The silence of the house imploded within him, even the breeze that had whistled up was not audible. Then something in the distance alerted him, a sort of tap, tap. He traced the sound to the kitchen - that's how they came in, obviously, he muttered to himself as he heard the gentle tapping of the open window. Perhaps there are some threads caught on the ledge - anything at all to give me a lead. He strode into the room without hesitation but he stopped dead in his tracks. Bile rose up to his throat as he beheld the horrific sight that confronted him. There, suspended from the ceiling, hanging over the sink was a body. It wasn't that he was just shocked at seeing a dead body; that was frightening enough on its own, but the way in which it was hanging with ugly protrusions. It had been trussed up like a turkey with hands tied around the knees, then hung upside down so that blood was dripping into the sink through the long strands of black hair. 'My God, Clare!' he shrieked as he put his hand to his mouth to hold back his retching. There was some sort of knife protruding from the throat and a broom handle was dangling out of the cadaver's anus. From the small amount of the handle showing, it was obvious that it had been rammed in hard before the victim's throat had been stabbed. He turned away quickly, not able to look the body in the face - he had to get out of the room so he returned once more to the stairs, the only thing left in the house that could give him any support. He sobbed aloud and wondered what they, whoever they were, had done with his children. Reasonably composed, he was ready to confront the body again considering it very strange he not noticed it when he first entered the house but when he returned to the kitchen he noticed something dangling that hadn't caught his eye before - genitals! The last time he saw his wife naked was only a few nights ago and she didn't have those, he thought, and turned to face the body. At least it wasn't Clare, thank God. It was the Oriental in the newspaper. His Clare was a Filipino only three years younger than himself but he couldn't guess what nationality this man was. All Orientals, bar Filipinos of course, looked the same to him. From the method of killing it looked as though it had been perpetrated by fellow Orientals.
Dan toyed with the idea of fetching Garee but decided against it because there would be nothing he could do, so he started searching around for clues before hiding his car in his neighbours' garage. He could find nothing tangible at all. Even if there were fingerprints it would be of no use because he dare not call in the police at this stage, not that he had anything to hide - other than the fact he would be suspected of the murder - his credibility was otherwise high being a whizz-kid in the Government, but not for long if the police found him. If there was one chance in a million that his family had gone of their own volition, there would be more than a little embarrassment because he was shortly due to represent his country at the world congress on children and the family - that is after the Vienna congress convened to outlaw the world-wide killing of whales and elephants which had become a major issue throughout the globe and to set up a global task force to combat the production and distribution of drugs..
Tindale was young to hold such a responsible position in government. It was becoming more abundantly clear that he was being groomed to step into the shoes of the Prime Minister when the time came for a change of leadership, though the popularity of the ruling party was fast dwindling. En route he hoped to land one of the major jobs, possibly Home or Foreign Secretary if not Chancellor.
Not of the public school ilk, he was dragged through the state system at a time when there had been a rape of the education system. The idea of huge comprehensive schools looked good on paper, but no way could they be an improvement on a system that had proved successful for so many decades. Change for change's sake, making people equal who couldn't be made equal – fine on paper but no way could it be practical. He then won a scholarship to Oxford - mainly thanks to the fact that his particular comprehensive school was originally a grammar school and the nucleus of staff and the system had been retained - then he graduated in Sociology with an honours degree. His adversaries denigrated his marriage to a Filipino, popular though she was with the majority of the electorate. She had even modified her name to assist her husband's career. Tindale hadn't considered himself a likely target for the IRA and so had only given the subject a fleeting thought after the Brighton bombing.
There appeared to be just one lead - the Oriental in the kitchen - his picture was in the newspaper - so was his own. A few discreet phone-calls may furnish him with enough information to get his foot in the door, but for to-night, he had had enough and so he retired to bed next door.
Sleep didn't come easily as events flitted through his mind, but then he had difficulty in recalling his journey home. He remembered that it had been foggy and he could visualise the face of the paper-lad with his face pressed against the car window. He then worried that Clare and the children had been kidnapped and perhaps lay imprisoned in a rat-infested cellar with no light, trussed up and maybe bunged in a cupboard with little air - then he felt his hackles rise as the thought occurred to him - two places he didn't think to check - the cellar and the cupboard under the stairs - but why had they taken the furniture?

Up at dawn, Dan stealthily tiptoed downstairs, donned an anorak and silently slipped out of the house for a last look to see if daylight would reveal anything he may have missed the previous night and to check on the cellar and the cupboard under the stairs. Imagine the shock as he entered the kitchen to find that there was no trace of the body. Had it been a figment of his imagination? He opened the outside door leading from the kitchen, deciding to inspect the ground in that area. It didn't need any close scrutiny to discover the half empty book of matches below the kitchen window. They must have missed seeing them in the dark he thought - or could they have been left deliberately. Whichever way it was a lead; inside was written, 'Haan Restaurant, Markt Plein, Bruges.' Pocketing these, he returned next door, committing the name and address of the restaurant to memory, only to find that Garee and Flo were both up and about. 'Just been to have a final check,' he mentioned casually.
'Any luck?' Flo asked.
'The house is completely empty,' he replied, taking care to give nothing away or mention the body that he thought he saw the night before. Thought? It was too darned real.
They chatted about trivia over a continental breakfast, the cappuccino restoring a little steel into Dan's befuddled mind. When he was fully alert
he duly thanked them for their hospitality and informed them he would begin his investigation as soon as he had bought himself a few essentials because he possessed absolutely nothing. 'Good God! That's something I haven't thought about. Do you think Clare would have taken all the money out of our joint account?'
'That very much depends whether she decided to leave you or whether anything more sinister has happened,' Garee surmised. 'You're not going anywhere on your own, you are still in a state of shock and you very much need help at this moment. If there is no money, I shall be at hand to remedy the situation - no problem, what are friends for?' He stood up and made to pack a few overnight things. 'I can let you have some clothes and I have a spare of most toiletries - you'll just need to buy a toothbrush. Anyway, where are we going to start?'
'A few discreet enquiries in the city - there are a couple of colleagues I can trust - they won't blow the whistle on me. There's no need for you to come, really. I'll be all right.'
'Your face is too well known, you just can't go around London openly, someone will be bound to spot you - more than likely the Plod Squad.'
Reluctantly Dan agreed to let him come along - at least two people would halve the work and they could help each other out if there was any bother - but he didn't want even his closest friend to know about the book of matches or the body. With the two working separately he would have a chance to give credibility for his trip to Belgium.
First Dan checked with the bank - his wife had made no withdrawals. Now he decided to withdraw a substantial amount of cash himself.
The chores of other enquiries were split between them. On returning to the car, Dan decided to let his friend in on the book of matches and both agreed that a visit to the continent was necessary. It was their only lead. It mattered not whether the matches were left there intentionally or not.
At Ramsgate they boarded the hovercraft, which was delayed because of mid channel fog. By three o'clock they were travelling through the Belgian countryside en route for Bruges.
Steeped in history and embalmed in charm and beauty, Bruges boasts some of the country's finest architecture. It is indeed Belgium's shop window for its famous lace.
The two men booked into a local pension. Dan told the patron that they would park their car nearby, hopefully free from any parking penalties, and then return with their luggage. Foolishly ignorant of the maze-like one-way traffic system, they failed to locate the wretched guest house again. Feeling thoroughly embarrassed, dejected and defeated after an hour's searching, they gave up searching for the pension and parked the car in a permitted space near the city centre.
'You go and see if you can locate the guest-house on foot then get yourself a quick snack, I'll meet you back at the car in two hours' time.'
The Markt Plein is dominated by a thirteenth century belfry - built when the town was at its richest and most extravagant - a symbol of civic pride and municipal independence. Its carillon, added in the eighteenth century, launches forth into hymn tunes every quarter hour from nine thirty in the morning to five at night, save a break at midday. The belfry's distinctive octagonal lantern top can be seen for miles across the surrounding polders.
In need of a little refreshment himself, Dan ventured into one of the string of restaurants that line two adjacent sides of the square. Assured that the Haan Restaurant was one of those, he searched around until he found it. Making a note of its location he decided to patronise the one next door so that he could keep an eye on those coming to and going from the Haan, from a seat under the awning.
Not trusting the natives entirely, he took his newly acquired hold-all with him and ordered a cappuccino and a waffle with Chantilly at the risk of encouraging his already swelly belly to add a few more inches to his inflated prominent paunch. Dan was reasonably fluent in French and prided himself with a fair accent - he was astonished after ordering une gauffre, to find he was served with a knickerbockers glory. An argument ensued and Dan felt he was on the losing side of the verbal volley. The waitress stormed off amidst a string of abuse delivered faster than a Pete Sampras serve, only to return with a circular tray with a banana milk shake. Fed up with trying to make himself understood in perfectly good French and certain that the Belgians haven't a clue how to speak it properly, he resigned himself to accepting the shake which he removed from the tray. That detonated another verbal onslaught. 'That is not for you,' she had now resorted to English, but it was too late, he had already attacked the liquidised banana for which he was given a straw - no way could he draw the thick mulch through such a small aperture.
Adequately satisfied with the meal in a glass he duly paid his bill and set out to explore the delights of the city - only too glad to be out of the restaurant, hopefully never to return. He took one of the many cobbled streets that led off the square. A disturbance turned his attention to the direction of the cafe he had just left. A man with a dome-like head set on square shoulders and no neck, rather like a traffic bollard was gesticulating frantically and appeared to be arguing vehemently with a man in a homburg hat - both looking in Dan's general direction and pointing. Surely they couldn't have been onto him already - he wasn't followed, that was for certain - or was it? - he wasn't a trained agent so he could have been tailed all the way from England. Then perhaps the matches had been dropped intentionally to lure him away - but why? - in which case he would have been expected.
With the arrival of the supermarket, the British sweetshop has virtually ceased to exist. Every newsagent and supermarket strategically arranged a cross-section of confectionary to tempt toddlers to grab a handful and surreptitiously secrete their haul under some of the goods in the trolley. In Belgium, sweet-shop displays look more like carnival floats with each chocolate and sweet painstakingly positioned in a mouth-watering tableau with oodles of praline fruits de mer. Dan could not resist entering one such establishment to purchase a half kilo which the shopkeeper proudly boxed, gift-wrapped and tied with a ribbon rosette - there was no need to go to so much trouble because the chocolates would not be in the box long enough to warrant such secure parcelling, he certainly had no intention of buying them for anyone else. Second thoughts, he ought to give a box to Garee and Flo for their kindness, so he purchased a second kilo. It was a luxury he considered he could afford himself amidst his woes - little comfort really.
Panic welled within him as he suddenly caught sight of Homburg with his back towards him, speaking abruptly to some stranger who shrugged in ignorance. Throwing discretion to the mild breeze he crossed the street and sought the haven of an ancient curiosity shop packed with paraphernalia of every description. Luck was temporarily with him as a voice said. 'You wish trip, yes? Last place, please to come this way,' at which he was hastily ushered to a back room before he had chance to reply, was relieved of forty francs and whisked down a flight of steps onto an awaiting motorised punt.
The guide, obviously a university student, seemed pleased to give vent to his linguistic prowess as he detailed all the historic buildings in five languages whilst they chugged by. A round trip! The thought suddenly strangled him - they would know that - would be waiting for him. Fear suddenly gripped him, for on approaching a low bridge, he could see Bollard directing a hail of abuse at him - perhaps he'll leap onto the punt as it approaches the bridge, he thought. At this juncture the punt slowed as the guide asked them all to turn around, there was the most famous sight in the city. He assured all the passengers there would be ample time to take photos to capture the picturesque view after the boat had manoeuvred itself alongside the grass verge, which was bespeckled with an assortment of ducks all preening themselves conceitedly.
This was the chance he needed. As a child he had been taught that opportunities will always arise and that he must recognise them and act upon them. Before the first click of the camera, Dan was off the boat, running, fearing that at any moment a figure would lurch out in front of him - and then - total oblivion! Avoid passages he heard himself say, no escape - tower ahead - church - sanctuary - hope!
Within moments he was easing open the west door of the cathedral to be greeted with celestial sounds as he fumbled his way to an empty seat at the back. The place was packed - a concert was in progress. Relax, he instructed himself - thumb and forefingers - depress eyeballs and hyperventilate - slows heartbeat, reduces flow of adrenalin. The musical notes formed themselves into recognisable sounds of Schubert's Alle Seelen which pervaded the place. It was being rendered by a young boy whose timbre of voice made Aled Jones in his hey day sound like an alley cat. It was as though the singer's soul reached out and personally plucked at his heartstrings - he had been translated into an ethereal world.
Barely had the strains of the final cadence melted away than he was jerked back into reality by a creaking sound - there, framed in the doorway of the south porch stood Bollard - que faire? He slid out of his seat hoping he had not been spotted, and then he retraced his tracks through the porch brushing into someone on their way in. 'Pardon, monsieur,...' he checked himself and fled as he realised it was Homburg. Like the fleeing sexton who was drawn back to the coffin he had nailed himself to, leaden legs hampered his haste. He stumbled over a loose cobble - twisted ankle - damn - that's all I need, he cursed aloud.
Nearby some children were playing with a ball in a side street. Safety in numbers! Relating a pathetic tale to the innocent bystanders, he persuaded them to accompany him back to the Markt Plein, pretending he didn't know where he was. At least he was in a crowd - safety in public places - so he selected a suitable cafe that advertised Duvel, Belgium's extra-strong lager. He had promised the children one each as a reward for their kindness, remembering that youngsters of their age were permitted to drink beer in that country.
They sat themselves down at a convenient table. Whilst awaiting refreshment, which he had once again ordered in French to impress the children, Dan amused the youngsters with a few anecdotes which he exchanged for a little information. He produced a photo of Clare and the children he always kept in his wallet, and asked if they had seen any of those in the photo.
'Oh yes,' said a little girl, 'she found our ball for us - a really nice lady.'
'Where?' Dan asked urgently, 'When?'
'Perhaps ten minutes before you came along - right where you saw us,' another replied. About to charge out of the cafe, Dan suddenly changed his mind as both Homburg and Bollard had joined forces in a last concerted show of strength, bursting through the cafe door. Trapped! No weapon - no escape. He sank low in his seat resigned to accepting whatever lay in store for him.
'Ah there you are, monsieur.' It was a breathless Bollard who took the initiative. 'You 'ave led us on a 'ow do you say, wild duck 'unt,' in his best English.
'Goose chase,' prompted the other, which seemed to relax the tension.
'Ah yes monsieur, you left this at the Restaurant Canard.' At this he produced Dan's hold-all. A smile of relief gradually grew on his face and he invited the two foot-worn gentlemen to join them in a drink - a Duvel, naturellement!
Turning to the little girl who recognised Clare, he asked whether his wife was on her own or with children.
'Oh yes, definitely on her own.'
'Are you quite sure?
'Yes.'
'No other man?'
'No, I don’t think so.'
That was that then. She seemed able to move freely - at least for the time being - which meant that they were holding the children - but what do they want from me he asked himself. He was soon to find out.
Garee had no success in locating the pension but he had managed to book into another, taking very careful note of the the name of the street and the proximity of notable features, and where it was in relation to their parked car so there would not be a repetition of their earlier embarrassment.
After settling themselves into their new pension, they decided to return to the main square and stroll around, each taking opposite directions, until it was time to eat.
The sound of Haan Restaurant belied the class of such a place offering high quality culinary delights, many of which were swimming around a tank in the centre of the room. Both men decided to cheer themselves up by ordering a really first rate meal - the shock came afterwards.
At the end of the meal, a waiter, not the one who had served them, presented the bill on a silver salver as was custom. Garee took the plate and placed it on the table. Dan snatched the bill before Garee had the chance to pay. Picking up the bill, Dan stared at it in disbelief - not the cost of the meal, there was no bill, only a note. 'Our compliments - the meal is on us - PTO. You will not interfere in other countries' matters - they don't concern you. We hold your family - if you want them back you will not attend the convention in Vienna. If you now look out of the window you will see we mean business.'
Dan rushed to the picture window at the front of the restaurant. Outside, a car was parked - Dan couldn't see anything unusual - that was until his attention was averted as the waiter who had presented the bill took to the driving seat - he could make out two people in the rear seat. 'Good heavens!' he exclaimed as he rushed out of the door to the car which suddenly accelerated and sped off - the two faces at the rear window were mouthing something - 'Help us daddy - PLEASE!'
Dan returned to the restaurant, gently pushing back Garee who had started after him, and sank back into his seat. His friend promptly ordered two double whiskies.
'So now we know what it's all about,' handing Garee the note he was still clutching. 'It's not money - thankfully Clare and the children haven't left me - that is, not of their own volition - what am I saying? I just implied I prefer them to have been kidnapped!'
'Don't worry, I know what you mean - at least you know they're safe for the time being. You've just seen the children and you know that Clare was seen earlier.'
'I just can't believe any of this is real. It's another fortnight till the congress.' His mind wandered. 'Greed - pure selfishness, all this killing - thousands of elephants and whales slaughtered for man's greed. Child labour and drugs have to be stopped and this is one chance to do something about it.'
'You must try to think rationally, Dan. You have to consider the lives of your family against the lives of animals. It's as simple as that, as far as I can see.'
'We have to do something, we can't just let people snatch my family and get away with it, nor let people get away with such atrocities around the world, but where do we start?'
'There's little we can do tonight - let's go back to the guest house and list everything that has happened - we can then have a good night's sleep, study the notes and draw conclusions in the morning. What is the point of worrying about things we cannot control? At least writing things down clears the mind and body and enables them to function normally.'