| Subject: Waiting...Seven & Eight |
Author:
Enjoue`
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Date Posted: 08:01:56 03/05/01 Mon
In reply to:
Enjoue`
's message, "Waiting...by Enjoue`" on 07:14:24 03/05/01 Mon
SEVEN
The four, three men and one woman, met in a tastefully appointed private meeting room of Frankfurt’s Hotel Intercontinental. They were friendly with one another, engaging in easy conversation born of their longstanding acquaintance. At length Georg Schultheiss cleared his throat and looked around the table, cueing the others that the time to socialize was over. Down to business.
“We may have a small difficulty,” he began, then stated the problem bluntly. “The men we had in place to handle the Italian and Dutch bank governors have disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” asked the rotund man to his left. Konrad Steinweg was an excitable man. Schultheiss had always been annoyed by this quality and wondered how someone with this temperament could spend his working life as a physician. Steinweg’s tone was petulant. “What do you mean, disappeared?”
“Just that. Nicolosi was in the Alps, cooperating with Italian authorities in their investigation. He vanished from there and has not resurfaced either at his home or his workplace in Turin.”
“And Vorst?” prompted the man seated directly across the table from Schultheiss. He was very tall and cadaverously pale, in appearance much more like the cliché of an undertaker than the oil magnate he really was.
“Curious, as well, Bernard,” Schultheiss replied, nodding. “Vorst left his car dealership in Stuttgart for lunch. His wife reported him missing sometime between 11:00 and midnight that evening. I have instructed Klaus Renke, his handler, to provide evidence to the police that Vorst had a mistress and a fat bank account. They will treat it like any other case of embezzlement and infidelity.”
“But we must know the truth.” Seated at his right, Anna-Lena Albrecht, a ruthlessly successful publisher, went as usual straight to the heart of the matter. Her already deeply seamed face was further drawn by the furrows of concentration creasing her forehead. “We must assume that these men have been detained. But by who? And what can they reveal?”
“They can reveal nothing.” Schultheiss shrugged dismissively. “The only information they have is the name of their contact."”
“Then we must make sure that their contact is not in a position to reveal anything further,” Anna-Lena noted dispassionately. “It is always safest to break the chain above the weakest link, is it not?”
Schultheiss reached over and picked up her hand, bringing it to his lips for a brief buss of its blue-veined back. "Anna-Lena, as always, we are of a single mind.” He smiled at the older woman, delighting in a moment’s baiting of her vanity.
She neither pulled her hand away nor showed any pleasure, only said mildly, “Don’t be a fool Georg.”
“I am never that, my dear, I can promise you,” Schultheiss replied sardonically, releasing her hand.
Steinweg had fidgeted nervously throughout the exchange and clearly had something more to say. “Perhaps we should postpone the Paris meeting,” he blurted. “We do not know who is behind the disappearance of our people. This could put at risk everything we have worked for.” He sat back in his chair in an effort to appear relaxed. His belly strained unattractively at the waistband of his trousers.
“There is no question of changing the meeting,” said Bernard Huber. “You know very well what it has taken to set it up.” His voice was deep, slow and very soft, perfectly in keeping with his funereal aspect. “Members from around the world who have grown too accustomed to independence...people who have waited all their lives and will not now be put off…younger people who are second generation to the cause and have not our loyalty. Too many threads are in the weave. If we appear at this juncture to be hesitant, afraid or – worse yet – if we reveal any hint that we may have been compromised, all could be lost, Konrad. All.”
“He is right,” Anna-Lena interjected forcefully. “This is our moment in time. The moment we have worked for all our lives!” She sat forward and her voice rose dramatically. “There will never again be such a convergence of German political power with the preparedness of our network world-wide. You must stiffen your resolve, Konrad.”
“Enough,” said Schultheiss quietly. “At this late date we cannot waste time convincing ourselves of the validity of our own plan.” He looked piercingly at Steinweg. “What is it Konrad? Are you faltering? Or are you simply playing devil’s advocate.”
Steinweg was no fool, and he clearly saw the way out Schultheiss was offering him. Gratefully he took it. “I…merely wished to present a more cautious approach for consideration, Georg. In order to…facilitate a view of the situation from all angles.” He felt the beads of sweat on the back of his neck slide together and begin to trickle down his collar. His relief was profound when tension levels in the room subsided somewhat.
“Of course you did, Konrad,” said Schultheiss smoothly. “It always pays to be thorough.” The big banker turned to Anna-Lena, who was still glaring at Steinweg. “Anna, I would like you to send a message through your electronic network that the Paris meeting preparations are on schedule and that we must have a confirmation by next Wednesday of all who will attend.” He paused. “Or a very, very good excuse from any who are not planning to attend.”
She smiled in perfect understanding and inclined her head. “The message will go out tonight, Georg.”
At this moment there came a discreet knock on the door, which opened enough to admit the inquiring face of the hotel waitress. Schultheiss gestured her in. “We are finished. You may clear, then bring coffee.”
The young woman nodded and slipped wordlessly into the room. In stiff silence the small group watched as she efficiently cleared their dinner debris onto a rolling cart.
A perfect Aryan, Schultheiss thought in satisfaction as he watched her work. Tall, blonde and blue-eyed.
A short while later, as they left the hotel by different routes, Schultheiss took a moment to slip a small wad of cash to the maitre d’ who hovered restlessly at the entrance of the dining area.
“Give this to the waitress who attended our meeting room,” Schultheiss instructed him. “She did a fine job.”
Bowing slightly, the man accepted the cash. “Of course, sir,” he replied politely, but Schultheiss was already departing. The maitre d’ watched the broad retreating back for a moment, quickly pocketed half the cash, then hailed the waitress who had been assigned to the meeting rooms for the evening.
“This is for you,” he informed the girl haughtily, holding the cash between his fingers as if it were beneath his dignity to actually deal with money.
The girl took the cash and tucked it away in her considerable bosom, keeping her dark eyes downcast. So she hadn’t actually served the meeting. It wasn’t every day she got something for nothing. She was smart enough not to ask any questions.
* * *
EIGHT
“Yesss!”
Birkoff hissed the word triumphantly under his breath, gently striking one clenched fist against the tabletop. His eyes devoured the text as quickly as he could scroll.
“Holy shit.”
Quickly he switched to the secured internal channel they now used for these communications. “Sir?”
In the perch Operations swung around immediately, not missing the tone in Birkoff’s voice. “What.”
“I’ve found a way into this Thule network, sir. You’d better come and look at this.”
As if he’d grown wings, Operations was only moments in arriving at Comm, and trailing him by seconds was Madeline. Other Comm personnel had departed for errands invented on the spot by Birkoff. Wordlessly he displayed for them the text that he had been reading.
“Poole was right,” Operations muttered as he swiftly digested what was on the screen. “They have a network that’s virtually worldwide. The Germans are in this up to their swastikas.”
He and Madeline looked at each other. “If Poole had waited six more months, there would have been no reversing this,” she observed quietly.
Birkoff rolled away suddenly in his chair, reaching for a computer far to his right. “Nikita’s report from Germany, sir,” he announced. Impatiently he waited while the loading bar completed its unhurried traverse. As soon as the download was completed he popped the disc and rolled back to Operations and Madeline. Sweeping a quick, surreptitious glance around the area, he inserted the disc and pulled up Nikita’s report.
“Good,” said Operations in a gratified tone, again reading over Birkoff’s shoulder. “Good. We’re on the right track.”
“You were correct to target Schultheiss,” Madeline commented, looking over Birkoff’s other shoulder as she too read Nikita’s report. “These people he met with obviously are the Committee Vorst and Nicolosi talked about. Or only a portion of the Committee.”
“At any rate,” Operations continued the thought, “we need to be at this Paris meeting. It’s referenced everywhere.” He paused a moment, thinking. “Birkoff, comb that Nazi network. We need every scrap of information you can find on that meeting. There isn’t much time.”
“I’ll notify Poole,” Madeline added. “We’ll pull his resources off everybody but these five.”
Operations looked at her grimly. “Then tell Michael and Nikita they’re leaving for Paris.”
* * *
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