Geoff Wolak K2 Book 6 (pdf)

Crucifix

Book 6

Geoff Wolak

www.geoffwolak-writing.com

This book/work is copyrighted in the United Kingdom and other
countries. This book is a work of fiction and the author accepts no
responsibility for any false conclusions or impressions drawn from it.

No part of this book/eMedia/eBook may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior
permission of the author and publisher(s).

This book/eMedia/eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall
not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or
otherwise circulated without the author’s and publisher’s prior consent
in any form or in any binding or cover other than that in which it is
normally sold and without a similar condition including this condition
being imposed on the subsequent purchaser(s).

© Copyright Geoff Wolak, 2007. Great Britain. All rights reserved

This work has not been professionally produced through a publisher or
agent, it is self-published. If you find any typos - apologies, no
professional copy-editor has checked or enhanced it. All
agent/publisher enquiries welcome.

Format
These books are printed in lulu.com format 6x9 ‘novel’ .

Contact
Email:

gwresearchb@aol.com

This book is dedicated to my young niece Hannah, who asked, and
who is banned from reading it for at least ten years after 2007.

Thanks to

Alan Drew, Carol Thomas, Vince the taxi driver, Simon Race (for all
the vodka red-bulls, which I paid for!), the Koh-I-Noor Indian
Restaurant (Newport) for all the curries, Spice Merchant (Cardiff Bay)
for all the curries, Stephen Wolak.

Big thank you to John Tompkins (Sin Eater book, lulu.com) and dear
lady wife, Maja.

Thanks to Pete at Black Dog Square Design for the cover designs.

About the series of books

K2 is a series of 6 books. If you have picked up book two, three, four
or more - without reading book one - then please put it back down; the
story will not make much sense without reading the books in series.
They all follow-on closely and previous plots are not re-capped. Later
books build on earlier events/characters.

This is a work of fiction, but based on real, current and historic
scenarios. All characters are fictitious.

No garden moles were harmed during the writing/research of these
books. The author does not advocate firearms as a suitable control of
garden pests!

There are many ‘facts’ deliberately hidden in the book, made light of.
‘Many a true word spoken in jest.’

Author’s note

‘It’s largely based in fact. It is written as action-fantasy-fiction,
since real life spying is way too boring for a novel.’

Inheritance

Assault
Revenge
Nazi Gold
Endurance
Crucifix

Glossary of abbreviations

P-26/P-27 - Swiss secret sleeper armies
UNA - Swiss Military Intelligence
MI6 - British Intelligence, aka, SIS - Secret Intelligence Service, for
overseas operations (non-domestic), aka, ‘Circus’.
MI5 - British Intelligence (domestic)
CIA - Central Intelligence Agency, USA, overseas intelligence service
SAS - Special Air Service, British Special Forces (similar to US
Green Berets/Delta Force)
SBS - Special Boat Squadron, British, similar to US Navy Seals
DOD - Department of Defense - USA
MOD - Ministry of Defence - UK
NSA - National Security Agency, USA, aka ‘No such agency’.
Reported to intercept ‘all’ the world’s text messages and emails.
SOE - Special Operations Executive, British WWII covert operations
OSS - USA, like SOE, WWII, overseas
DGSE - French Secret Service/counter terrorism - domestic and
foreign
IRA - Irish Republican Army, terrorist movement
ETA - Spanish/Basque separatist/terrorist movement
Red Brigade - Italian communist/terrorist/crime gang
KGB - Soviet Intelligence, prior to 1990s.
NAAFI - Navy Army Air Force Institute - shops on British military
bases.
SIB - British Military Police
BKA - Federal German Police, similar to FBI
FSB - Russian Intelligence, formerly KGB
Special Branch - British Police - anti-terrorism/organized crime
Wehrmacht - general term, German armed services WWII
COBRA - Cabinet Office Briefing Room ‘A’, used by British Prime
Minister for meetings with security staff.
FARC – Columbian guerrillas/communist

British military slang

Oppo - opposite number/close working buddy
Pongo - soldier - derisive
Ponce/poncey - upper class/educated/effeminate - derisive
Regiment - he was ‘Regiment’- he was SAS
Rock Apes - RAF Regiment - defensive unit of airfields
Rupert - officer/upper-class - derisive
Beast - punish soldier
Stripy - Air Force Officer, derisive term for ranking stripes
Billets - accommodation/food
Civvy - civilian
Badged - qualified entry to SAS, receipt of cap badge
Best bib and tucker - best suit/outfit/military dinner suit
QT - on the QT, on the quiet
Stag – on guard duty

How to win friends and influence people

‘Johno, what you doing visiting your old man in hospital?’
Beesely light-heartedly enquired, sitting up in bed. ‘Bored
were you? Need someone to take the piss out of?’
‘Nope, needed a chat, off the radar. C’mon, we’re
going swimming.’

Covering his torso in a t-shirt, Johno carried a reluctant
Beesely on his back and down the pool steps, one hand on
the silver railing.

In the warm water Beesely let himself float, aided by a

bright yellow lifejacket. ‘So, what’s this all about?’ he
quietly asked.
Johno dragged his father to the far side of the pool,
where water gurgled noisily. He held his gaze on Beesely
for several seconds. ‘I know why Helen came here.’
Beesely frowned his lack of understanding with that
statement. ‘I would have thought it obvious why she came,
and not for your charms, that’s for sure!’

Johno smirked. ‘That was the first clue.’

‘Clue?’
‘To why she really came. Who gave her a nudge, and
why.’
Beesely was shocked. ‘Are you suggesting she’s been
compromised?’
Johno checked over his shoulder at two guards stood
now at the far end of the brightly lit pool. ‘Would you
have seen any scenario … where a woman like her jumps
into bed with me?’
‘A bit far fetched, yes, but I didn’t want to pry – I
figured you knew what you were doing. So, what have
learnt? Is she a threat to K2?’

Johno steadied himself with a stationary breaststroke.
‘No, not a threat to K2, she needs us to help her.’
Beesely copied Johno’s breaststroke, manoeuvring
closer. ‘Help her do what … exactly?’
Johno’s features hardened. ‘Take revenge for the
British people. For Portsmouth.’
Beesely stared hard. ‘Not Luchenkov? Someone
pulling his strings?’ Johno nodded. ‘Who?’ Beesely
nudged.
‘If you don’t know you can’t react the wrong way if
you meet them.’
‘Government

level?’

‘Nope, private body, not much of a political agenda. If

they did … then I could respect what they do.’
Beesely stared at the water’s surface for several
seconds, taking a reflective breath. ‘You’ll strike at them
with K2?’

‘Big time,’ Johno carefully mouthed.

‘And … Helen?’

‘Sent here to try and nudge us towards doing that job.
Plausible deniability – as they say.’
‘Does she know you’re onto her?’ Johno shook his
head. ‘Otto onto her?’

Again Johno shook his head. ‘And he can’t know yet.

Like you, he needs to … react in the right way, he’s not
much of an actor.’

‘Unlike you!’ Beesely said with a proud smile.

‘Best there is,’ Johno said with a grin.

‘Do you … care for Helen?’ Beesely delicately
broached.
‘Sure, adds a lot of quality to my life. Proud to walk
around with her on my arm.’

‘Did Mike really … you know?’

‘Yeah, bit of a paradox there. UK got hit, caused her to

get kicked out, scared him off, just as she was …

requested, if not ordered, to come here, to see if she could
use K2 to attack this group.’

‘When you came back from Malta –’

‘No, Mossad didn’t tip me off - I don’t think they
know. If they do know, and didn’t tell us … then, well a
bit naughty. No, I went for a swim and a priest approached
me, spilt the beans. Lucky break.’

‘And could this … priest have been lying, working for-

’
‘No, he told me Molarini had been prepped ready for
the chair.’

‘Ah. Sacrificial lamb?’

Johno nodded. ‘Still, we need to proceed as if I’m a
thick git.’

Beesely cocked an eyebrow. ‘Shouldn’t be so hard for

you.’ Johno smiled widely, Beesely softly asking, ‘And
is… God tied into this?’
‘Yeah,

but

they ain’t pulling the strings. So we’ll need

a new operation title, something along the lines of …
Quadruple Bluff.’

‘Should be interesting. You covered all the bases?’

‘No, I like to see the ground in front of me before I
firm up my ideas.’
Beesely had drifted away, grabbed now by Johno and
brought back. ‘You’ll risk K2 to attack this group?’ he
cautiously enquired.
Johno lifted his eyebrows, offering an enigmatic grin.
‘There’s a paradox there that I’ll explain at some point.’
He features hardened as he took a moment. ‘But after what
they did to the UK - hell yes, all out, them or us when the
time comes.’

‘That’s why the dispersal - some of it survives.’

Johno agreed with a nod. ‘The priest told me a lot,
hinting at stuff he didn’t really understand, but stuff we
know about. It all clicked into place. And … before this is
over you’ll thank old boy Gunter.’

‘What?’ Beesely puzzled, astonished.

‘Keep it in mind for later. You’ll see.’

* * *

An hour later Johno sat staring at the dungeon wall, beer
can in hand, the smell of chlorine in his hair. Thomas
walked by, noting the look on Johno’s face before
stepping out. When he returned, twenty minutes later,
Johno was still staring at the wall.

‘Johno, I can smell burning!’ Thomas joked.

Johno turned his head. ‘Hmmm?’

‘What are you thinking about?’ Thomas asked,
plonking down opposite.
‘Big problem, inside an even bigger one.’ He sighed.
‘You OK?’
‘Yes. Later, Helen is teaching me golf,’ the lad
excitedly got out.

‘Good.’ Johno went back to the wall.

‘Can you tell me what the problem is? Is it secret?’

Johno turned his head. ‘Hmmm? Secret. Well … a bit.’

‘Then tell me without names and things.’

Johno offered the lad a warm smile. ‘I need to tackle
someone like Shue again, but much smarter. They’re not
stronger than us, not with guns and weapons, but smarter -
lots of money.’

‘The Vatican?’ Thomas whispered.

Johno shook his head. ‘They’re involved, but not the
main problem.’

‘You can go and talk to them while we surround them,

like before?’ the lad enthusiastically offered.
‘Already considered that, but they’re large, maybe
three hundred of them, all over – many countries. They’re
not in one place.’
Thomas sat studiously thinking. ‘Maybe Helen knows
what to do?’

Johno wagged a warning finger at the boy, offering
him a stern look. ‘I don’t want to worry her with it, so
don’t say anything! OK?’ Thomas nodded. ‘We want her
to be happy here, yeah? Not too many problems.’ Again
Thomas nodded, this time with enthusiasm. John sighed.
‘So, short arse, how do you deal with a lot of people at the
same time?’

‘Do we have enough men to fight them all?’

Johno shook his head. ‘Each time we kill someone
there are at least six good agents covering all the angles.
We’d need … a thousand agents.’

‘What about the American men you’re going to visit?’

Johno glanced at the wall. ‘They may not … you
know, want to do what I want to do.’
‘Can we give people money to help us?’ Thomas
asked. ‘Mercantile?’

Johno smiled. ‘Mercenary. Could do, but we can’t trust

people like that. Later on they’ll talk, say what they did.
No, on a job like this you can only use top agents – people
you can trust.’
Thomas let his shoulders drop. ‘What is the second
problem? You said two.’

‘Treasure, my boy, treasure,’ Johno loudly stated. ‘You

read the book on the Templars I gave you?’ Thomas
confirmed with a nod. ‘Some of that treasure is what the
Vatican wants, some of it the Israelis want back, ‘cause it
was theirs to start with. Some of it probably belongs to the
Arabs, and it all got moved from France. So they all have
a claim to it.’
‘Why is that a problem for us? Do we have the
treasure?’

‘No, but some of these people think Gunter might have

had it, or knew where it was. So they’re being … you
know, a pain in the arse.’
‘Let them fight each other for it,’ Thomas suggested.
‘We sell it to the strongest one.’

Johno rolled his eyes. ‘You’ve been watching too
many movies. They ain’t about to fight each other…’ His
words trailed off, his gaze directed back to the wall. ‘But
… but there may be a way to piss them all off.’ He raised
his phone. ‘Duncan, newspaper guy.’ They waited.

‘Johno?’ came a sleepy voice a few seconds later.

‘Yeah. Listen up, want you to stir up some shit.’

‘On

what?’

‘Templar

treasure.’

‘You

what?’

‘Templar treasure. You know what that is?’ Johno
curtly pressed.

‘Yes. But what’s that got to do with anything?’

‘I’m sitting on it.’

‘Jesus

…!’

‘Quite. So this is what I want you to do. Start a small,

but serious debate – well away from your good self –
about who really should get it back if it’s found. They
were French, mostly, the modern day Templars in
Scotland would have a say, the Israelis would want
Solomon’s baubles back, the Arabs would want their lot
that got nicked from mosques, and they all claim the
fucking Ark as theirs. I want this story in each relevant
country nudged along, whatever it costs. Drag the Saudis
in, even fucking Nova Scotia.’

‘Nova Scotia, what they fuck they got a claim on?’

‘Some silly sods think the Templars sailed from Paris
to Canada in thirteen hundred or something.’
‘Yeah,

right.’

‘Exactly. So forget that bit, hit the rest.’

‘I’m with you. So, what’s in there altogether?’

‘Dunno, ain’t dug it up yet.’

‘I though you said –’

‘They all think it’s under the castle, may well be, who

knows.’

‘Be a shit load of publicity for you if it is!’

‘That’s the problem.’ He hung up.

Mr Grey emerged from his dive into a narrow mineshaft,
checking his wrist computer. K2 climbers and cavers lifted
him out of the murky water, sitting him on a stone ledge.
With his mask off he breathed deeply in an out.

‘Cold?’ a K2 guard asked.

‘No, not too bad.’

‘Anything?’
‘I dismantled a stone wall, definitely artificial, old as
well. Took up all my time, and silted the water. Needs a
day to settle. Some trinkets I got with the metal detector,
lot of old nails.’

‘OK, warm drink, update the map.’

Clean, dry, and now warm, Grey stepped into the newly
decorated restaurant, taking in the décor, a decorator
fixing a bland watercolour to a wall. Finding Johno sat
with the Israeli representative, the same man he had met in
Malta, Grey stepped over and sat.

‘Anything?’ Johno asked, mildly interested.

Grey placed down a handful of small items. ‘Your
experts will have to say.’ He shook the Israeli’s hand.
‘Hello again.’
‘Call me Casper, please.’ He set about examining the
items found so far as Grey sat. ‘This coin is … perhaps
fifteen hundreds, quite common.’

‘So there was a mine back then?’ Johno asked.

‘Not necessarily, it could have been hidden much
later,’ Casper suggested as he picked through the items.
‘This is pagan!’

‘Does that help?’ Johno asked, hiding a smile.

Casper offered him an intolerant glance, just as the
Vatican’s representative arrived, a full Cardinal in his

flowing red and purple robes. Johno watched Casper’s
reaction with amusement.

Casper stood. Then, as an afterthought, offered a hand.

‘How do you do?’ They shook.
‘I’m Cardinal Diaz, archaeologist to the Pope,’ the
man said in an American accent. He faced Johno, who
now slowly stood. ‘And you, sir, need no introduction.’

They shook, a head tip from the Cardinal.

‘Want a cuppa?’ Johno asked.

‘Ah, that’s English slang … tea, yes?’

‘How do you take it?’ Johno asked, straight faced, but

with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

‘Black, with mint leaves, please.’

‘Spent any time in the Arab Quarter of Jerusalem?’
Johno asked as he stepped away.
The Cardinal cocked an eyebrow. ‘Some. Ten, twenty
years. Who’s counting?’
Casper offered a long sentence in perfect Arabic,
getting back an equally perfectly pronounced reply from
the Cardinal. Johno ordered the Cardinal’s drink, getting a
‘Shokran’ from the cleric.

‘Afwan,’ Johno offered without looking around.

‘Ah, I was warned in advance … never to
underestimate you.’
‘This should be fun then,’ Johno said with a smirk,
gesturing the cleric to a seat, everyone now settling
themselves. ‘You staying local?’

‘Zurich - a short, beautiful drive.’

‘Don’t forget curry night,’ Johno suggested; an
invitation.

‘Curry night? Sounds interesting.’

‘Next one is two days time, school canteen, dishes
from all over the world.’
‘Ah, excellent. I worked in the Far East for many
years, developed quite a taste.’

‘Let the staff here know about any favourites, we’ll get

some sent in.’
‘That’s … very accommodating of you,’ the cleric
offered, carefully studying Johno as his tea was placed
down. He noticed the mint leaves floating in his tea. ‘You
had some in stock?’

‘Anticipated your arrival,’ Johno lied.

The Cardinal was caught momentarily off guard,
before offering a polite, diplomatic smile. Pointing at the
items found by Grey he said, ‘That’s all, so far?’
Johno gave a slow, lazy nod. ‘Our head diver’s a lazy
git.’

Grey turned his head and gave Johno a look.

The Cardinal said, ‘Ah, I would surmise that this rather

fit looking gentlemen is your … head diver?’
Grey faced Diaz, a threatening look. ‘Amongst other
things.’
‘Ah,

some

secret agent type? Excellent, adds a spice to

life.’

Johno eyed Diaz with a slight frown. ‘You’re not, you

know, quite such a boring old wanker as I figured.’
Diaz beamed. ‘I did three years in the US Marines
before I found God. Was a base jumper in my youth, long
before the craze took off – if you pardon the pun.’
Johno laughed. ‘We should have some fun then. You
play golf?’
‘Hell, yes.’ Whispering he added, ‘Most of us do, you
know.’

Johno face Casper. ‘You?’

‘No.

golf,

or base jumping. Chess is my game.’

‘Excellent,’ Diaz enthused. ‘I think we shall have
plenty of time to kill.’

Johno faced the kitchen staff. ‘Oy, find a decent chess

set, leave it out here.’ He faced Diaz. ‘I think Helen plays
well. And if either of you is really bored, I’d appreciate

one of you teaching my lad, he’s the best in his class
already.’
Diaz and Casper made eye contact, cold, diplomatic
head tips exchanged.
‘So,’ Diaz began. ‘I was told if I was to get anywhere
with you, Johno, that I should be blunt and to the point. In
fact, I was probably chosen for this assignment due to the
fact that I am regarded as … a bit loud and un-diplomatic.’

‘Fire away,’ Johno offered.

‘Well, let’s start simple. If you found the treasure here,

tomorrow, what would you do with it?’
Casper

stiffened.

Johno noticed, but held his gaze on Diaz. ‘Let me ask
you… a question first. Off the record, who do you think
has the best claim to it?’
‘A difficult question.’ Diaz gave it some thought,
trying to read Johno. ‘Well, they were French, the treasure
housed in France, but – at the end of the day – they were
part of Holy Roman Empire, a branch of our church,
working under a direct remit from the Popes of that
period.’
‘True,’ Johno conceded with a head tip. ‘But, if they
possessed treasure that was … taken – some might say
stolen – from under the Temple Mount, might not the
Israelis have a claim?’
Diaz smiled widely, glancing at Casper. ‘Not a
decision that I have to – fortunately – make.’

Johno firmly stated, ‘Wrong.’

Diaz’s eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’

Johno’s features turned to stone. ‘If I find it, the
interested parties will have to convince me which part is
theirs before they get it back. You, they sent, so you stay –
no replacements, no backup. If you don’t convince me,
you don’t even get a fucking look in.’ He stood. ‘And
welcome to Schloss Diane, the Bavarian Napoleon is
great.’

Grey followed him out the door, a glance back and
smile at Diaz.

The Cardinal faced Casper. ‘Is he joking?’

‘He has already threatened to destroy any relics he
finds, if he believes they will lead to … religious unrest
around the world.’
‘Destroy

them?’

Casper nodded. ‘The day you think you know what is
going through his mind, leave, because you will
completely wrong in your conclusion.’

* * *

On the stairs Johno stopped Grey, using Grey’s mobile to
call The Lodge.
‘Mr

Grey?’

‘No, it’s Johno. Listen up, I want Elle Rosen and his
superiors in Washington tomorrow or the next day.’

‘You are coming here, sir?’

‘Nope. Just do as I ask.’ He hung up.

‘What’s all that about?’ Grey asked, pocketing his
phone.
Johno stared out of the window, letting out a heavy
sigh whilst fixing on guards slowly ambling across the
grass below. ‘If things don’t work out, and your superiors
asked you to put a bullet in me, would you?’
Grey glanced out the window, taking a moment. ‘If
they did, and I didn’t, I’d get the bullet.’
Johno reflected on that statement, a glance up at the
grey sky. ‘Then it’s nice to be in the position I’m in - no
one can ask me to kill you if this all gets messy.’
‘Not

…

strictly accurate.’ Johno turned his head. Grey

continued, ‘If you accept Lodge rules and decisions, they
could order you to kill me.’
‘I’d never do it. If they want me to play fetch, it’s on
my terms. Besides, I’d give you a running head start.’

‘Ha! With your knee I’d give you the head start!’

Beesely sat with Helen and Otto, quietly progressing
through the mountain of paperwork that recent events had
generated.
Johno ambled in. ‘That’s what I like to see, someone
else doing the paperwork for a change.’

Beesely eased back into his wheelchair. ‘And just how

much paperwork have you done since you’ve been here?’
The three grilled him with glares as he slouched down.

‘I kind of see myself … as a male lion –’

‘A what?’ Helen asked.

‘A male lion.’

‘A

lion

is male,’ she corrected him.

Beesely turned to her. ‘Have you not seen the video?’

‘What video?’ she asked.

‘Otto, dig it out, please,’ Beesely suggested. ‘It’s the
video of Johno’s interview to work here, when we first
came over. Our Swiss friend here didn’t warn them about
Johno, they didn’t know what to expect.’

‘Ah, so … did he pass?’ she lightly asked.

‘No,’ Otto and Beesely said together.

Beesely added, ‘But the video has passed into legend
around here. You must be the only one who hasn’t seen
it.’
‘Anyway,’ Johno began, ‘to business. Grab the
managers, will you, got a question.’
‘Problem?’

Beesely

asked.

‘Is this K2?’ Johno retorted.

Beesely and Otto made eye contact, Otto tapping the
phone and ordering the managers.
When assembled Johno addressed the group. ‘I want
an assessment made, kind of immediately, as to how many
agents and guards we have, plus freelancers, that could be

employed at maximum – should we need them – that can
fight or kill. I want a number.’

‘Is this going to worry me?’ Beesely grumbled.

‘Not yet,’ Johno carefully mouthed with a grin.

‘I would guess three hundred and fifty guards,’ Otto
began, ‘a hundred and fifty agents, access to another fifty
freelancers.’

‘So, five-fifty?’ Johno mused, the managers seeming to

agree. ‘But on a normal operation, of most kinds, we
would use a group of three to six agents covering each
other, watching roads, etc. Yeah?’ The group agreed.
‘Which means - how many teams could be produced?’
Johno asked.
‘Around one hundred,’ Claus suggested after a
moments thought. ‘At best, two hundred.’

Johno nodded to himself. ‘I’d like that figure checked,

and then I’d like to know how many more we could drag
in if need be, you know, in an emergency.’
‘Are you going somewhere with this?’ Beesely
pressed.

‘Just planning ahead, being … diligent. Oh, Claus, can

you ready the Gulfstream in the morning. Me and Thomas
off to Rome to pick someone up and then to Malta for the
day to meet someone.’
‘And these … people?’ Otto asked wiith a curious
look.

‘Can’t say just yet, you know, bugs and all.’ He stood.

‘Johno,’ Helen called. ‘Is it … wise to keep us all in
the dark?’
‘If it was important I’d tell you. Minor trip, soon be
back.’ He left.

‘He’s getting secretive,’ Beesely grumbled.

‘We

were bugged, and infiltrated,’ Claus pointed out.

‘And if he is meeting someone in Rome, maybe best we
don’t know yet.’

‘Makes sense,’ Beesely conceded. He faced the
managers ‘OK, thank you for your … short attendance,
let’s get those figures for face fungus, eh?’

Otto stood. ‘If you will excuse me for five minutes.’

In the courtyard Otto caught up to Johno, walking
alongside. ‘If there is a security problem here, I would like
to know about it.’

‘So would I,’ Johno quipped.

‘What?’ Otto puzzled.

‘I’m going to test security, so I’ll be acting a bit odd.’

‘This trip to Rome –’

‘Send some agents to see who’s waiting for me, but
don’t go through the managers.’

‘You suspect someone?’

‘I already know of at least one … person reporting
out.’

‘What?’ Otto gasped in a whisper.

Johno half turned his head and nodded as they walked,

now on the tarmac.
‘We must get rid of this person!’ Otto forcefully
whispered.
Johno stopped. ‘I have a better idea. We feed them
false information, see who they’re connected to, then go
after them all.’

That seemed to appease Otto. He reluctantly nodded.

‘Don’t discuss this with anyone, in case it slips out or
you react to them in the wrong way and tip them off.’

‘You think the Vatican still has an interest?’

‘Without a doubt.’

Otto sighed and walked back in, his shoulders
hunched.

It’s my first day in the job

The Gulfstream broke through the clouds, a burst of
brilliant sunshine and a view of the Alps to the south.
Johno lifted the armrest phone. ‘Pilot, head to Lisbon
to re-fuel, then Azores and Washington, States.’
‘Washington,

sir?’

‘Yeah. Contact operations and have a flight plan
sorted. Thanks.’

‘Sir, that is an odd route. It would be normal to fly the

northern circle -’
‘I don’t want to pass through UK airspace or UK
Atlantic air traffic control. Got it?’
‘Yes, sir. And we can reach the Azores without re-
fuelling, sir.’

The plane changed course as it climbed.

‘Not Malta?’ Thomas asked, intently studying the
brilliant white cloud tops below them.

‘Nope, it was trick, see who’d be waiting there for us.’

* * *

‘Eminence,’ came an out-of-breath gasp, the cleric at the
end of a jog through a very long corridor.
Cardinal Rumon clasped his hand together in front of
himself and waited.
‘Herr Johno from K2 is flying here, to pick someone
up and then take this person to Malta to meet someone
else!’
Rumon let his hands drop, glaring down at the
messenger. ‘Get our best people to the airport, find out
who it is, the same for Malta airport. Go, quick.’
He stepped to the window and peered down over St.
Paul’s Square, his concern etched into his face.

* * *

Three cars burst out of the Vatican South Gate and onto
the Via di Porta Cavalegger, heading east before turning
south towards the municipal airport, another group
heading west towards Da Vinci Airport on the coast.
Unknown to them, K2 gents were filming with high
quality video all cars exiting today, the same vehicles
clocked a second time at the airport, their drivers and
passengers recorded as they exited their vehicles.
Rumon just made a mistake. At Malta airport he had
also shown his hand.

* * *

At noon Beesely was sat opposite Helen, innocuously
taking about the changing structures of MI6 over the
years.
A manager stepped in, offering a puzzled look.
‘Ma’am, Herr Director, Johno has changed course mid
flight, heading now for Washington.’
‘He … knows what he’s doing,’ Beesely suggested,
but sounded neither firm – nor confident. ‘Thank you.’

The manager stepped out as Otto stepped in.

‘You’ve heard?’ Beesely asked him.

‘Yes,’ Otto stated as he sat. ‘And … something else. I

took the liberty of sending men to Rome Airport and
Malta. They have photographed a large number of …
strange individuals greeting arriving aircraft.’
Beesely

laughed.

Helen said, ‘He was testing the water.’

‘And now,’ Otto added, ‘we have the faces and the
vehicles of the … interested parties.’

‘So,’ Helen said with a sigh, easing back into her chair.

‘I guess the presence of our Vatican friend upstairs hasn’t
put them at ease yet.’
‘Obviously not,’ Beesely commented. ‘But I’d love to
see the look on their faces later.’

* * *

Cardinal Rumon laughed loudly. Finally he said, ‘I like
this man, Johno. He has fed our insider some bait and we
took it. After more than a thousand years in office we
should know better.’

‘He suspects our agent?’

‘Oh yes. But maybe he suspects a group. This flight
plan would have been accessible by dozens of people.
We’ll see.’ He walked off, still grinning.

* * *

Whilst waiting for a take-off slot on the Azores Johno
checked his watch, doing the maths before asking to be
put through to Stanton.

‘Johno, you’re calling at a respectable hour!’

‘That depends on where you are.’

‘Where are you then?’

‘Be with you in about four hours, so put the kettle on,
Boss.’

‘Mossad is here. And concerned,’ Stanton queried.

‘Need

word.’

‘Them or us?’

‘Both, but you first.’
‘I’ve got appointments –’ Stanton began.
‘Not after you hear this you won’t.’

‘Oh hell.’ A loud breath could be heard. ‘More
trouble?’

‘Take everything that has happened since we joined
K2, add it up and it still wouldn’t total what’s about to
happen.’
Stanton did not respond immediately. ‘I’d really love
to think you’re exaggerating, but with you guys it’s always
worse than you say.’ He sighed. ‘Jesus. You need a full
meeting?’

‘Nope, just you. Can’t risk this getting out.’

‘What the hell are you saying … we’ve been
compromised?’
‘Reckon so, old buddy,’ Johno said in an accent. ‘But
not to worry, we’ve go two high level moles back in K2 as
we speak.’

‘Jesus,’ Stanton repeated.

‘If it’s not too much trouble, I want independent FBI
security, not your lot. Already got someone in mind as
well.’

‘Is that necessary?’ Stanton asked, clearly concerned.

‘Yes.’
‘Well, they couldn’t come inside, obviously, nor
should they know anything about us.’

‘You wangle it, any which way you like.’

‘How about Secret Service?’

‘No. FBI, Boss, if you don’t mind,’ Johno pressed.

‘Let me see what I can do. Hell, you just joined and
your turning everything on its head already.’
‘You’ll see why. Oh, and don’t tell anyone I’m
coming. See ya soon.’ He hung up.
‘Will we be able to see the White House?’ Thomas
keenly enquired.

Johno nodded. ‘Oh, yeah. Might go inside and all.’ He

re-dialled. ‘Special Agent Bambitou, FBI, New York
office.’ They waited.

‘Hello?’ came a deep, rich voice.

‘Hey

Bambi!’

‘Who the hell is this?’

‘The people from Switzerland.’

‘Oh … right. What’s up?’

‘I’ll be in Washington in three or four hours, FBI is
laying on some security, CIA’s been compromised again.
Just wondering if you’d be a love and protect me while
I’m there?’

‘I got some time off, I’m in Atlanta.’

‘That near Washington?’

‘Hour’s flight. Anyway, why the hell would I want to
help protect you?’
‘Because I’m just about to expose some shitbags, the
kind you don’t like. If they kill me, they win – world takes
a step backwards.’

A sigh could be heard. ‘When and where, Limey?’

Johno laughed. ‘Get your big black arse and your size
thirteen boots to DC, I’ll call you when I’m there. And
don’t worry about flights and hotel bills - we’ll sort it for
you.’ He hung up smiling.

‘Who has a black arse?’ Thomas asked.

‘We’re going to meet some big American basketball
players.’
‘Great!’

Thomas

enthused.

At Ronald Regan International Airport, Virginia, several
FBI vans stood waiting in an isolated corner.
Johno stepped down into a clear sky, but a bitingly
cold wind. ‘Should have gone to bloody Malta!’ he
muttered.

The FBI walked forwards, dark blue shiny jackets with

large FBI letters in yellow.

‘Very subtle,’ Johno told the lead man.

‘Sorry, sir, but we only got notified twenty minutes
ago. Welcome to the States. You’re Swiss, right?’
‘Nope,

British.’

‘British?’ the man puzzled.

‘The less questions the better, me old son.’

The lead agent looked beyond Johno and to the plane.
‘Your bags, sir?’
‘Just this,’ Johno stated, tapping his small bag. ‘So
lead on, G-Man.’

‘Are you FBI?’ Thomas asked, wide-eyed.
‘Yes we are,’ came back in tandem as Johno and

Thomas suddenly became flanked by six agents, a van
door opening for them. ‘Where to, sir?’
‘Pick a hotel at random, centre of Washington.
Something expensive.’
The lead agent eased down opposite Johno in the van,
eyeing him carefully as the door slammed shut. ‘Are we
going to get any clues as to what this is about?’

‘Need to know basis,’ Johno offered the man. ‘Execute

some random course changes.’
‘Is there a specific danger to you, sir?’ the agent
pressed as the convoy headed off.
Johno eased forwards. ‘If this visit has been
compromised, then this van is about to be punctured by a
shit load of bullets!’
The agent straightened. ‘We weren’t warned of the
threat level!’ he complained. Lifting his radio he said,
‘Head into the centre, random course changes, threat level
Alpha.’
The front seat passenger turned his head. ‘We ain’t
fucking kitted for this!’
‘I know!’ the lead agent barked. He faced Johno,
clearly angered. ‘If we get hit … then some fucker’s going
to pay!’
‘How about,’ Johno teased, ‘the fuckers who attack
us!’

‘You know who?’

Johno

nodded.

‘And?’ the agent pressed.

Johno eased back, glancing out of the window.
‘Classified, way up there. Sorry.’
‘Fucking marvellous.’ The agent sat back, also now
glancing through the windows. Raising his radio he said,
‘Hilton Hotel.’

‘Which one?’ crackled back.

‘Massachusetts

Avenue.’

Thomas peered out the windows, keenly attentive as
Johno lifted his phone.
‘Book us a room, Hilton, Massachusetts Avenue, two
or three adjoining rooms for my FBI escort, stock them all
with the best bar snacks and drinks and some nice gifts for
the FBI guys. Ta, love.’
The lead agent studied the satellite phone. ‘Your
secretary?’
‘Note

quite.’

‘And we can’t take gifts on duty.’

‘Got a family?’

‘Wife and three kids. Who … I’d like to see tonight!’

‘We’ll arrange for you to win a trip for five to Euro-
Disney, all expenses paid.’
The agent’s eyebrows lifted. ‘My youngest is fifteen
going on twenty-five. And he can’t stand the sight of me!’
Johno smiled. ‘Then we’ll arrange a week in a Swiss
Health Spa next summer, for all of your guys.’
Johno’s phone chirped. He pressed the green button
without lifting it. ‘Yeah?’

‘It’s Beesely. CIA just called, they know you’re there.’

‘Problem?’ Johno asked, still focused on the agent.

‘George Holmes just extended an invitation to visit
Langley and the White House, so now the President
knows.’ The agent stared back.

‘Fob ‘em off, tell ‘em it’s a quick personal trip, yeah?’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Johno hit the red button.

‘Just who are you, sir?’

‘Can’t

say.’

‘Be easier to protect you if we knew the threat,’ the
agent pointedly remarked.
Johno’s features hardened. ‘Sometimes, it’s better to
die with your secret, than let it out. If the wider world
knew what was going on there’d be political unrest and
financial problems. Like your own CIA, my group
removes threats without it getting on the front page.
Sometimes, you just got to do what’s right. Which can
mean taking it to the grave instead of risking it getting on
CNN.’
‘But then, don’t the bad guys win?’ the agent quietly
posed.
‘Not

you keep me alive, they don’t.’

The agent sat back, carefully studying his charge. ‘Is
the funny moustache a disguise?’

* * *

Johno stared out of his hotel room window as Thomas
explored the palatial bathroom.
‘Please, sir. Those windows are not bullet proof,’ a
coloured agent pointed out. He drew the curtains.
‘Scaredy-cat,’ Johno joked, getting an odd look back.
He bounced on the bed as the lead agent entered with
Bambitou.

‘You requested this agent?’ the senior FBI agent asked,

a quizzical and unhappy expression. Bambitou stood in
jeans and jumper, wrapped up against the cold.

Johno eyed Bambitou’s boots from where he sat on the

end of the bed. ‘What size are they?’
‘Thirteen,’

Bambitou

answered.

‘Good guess then.’ He stood, extending a hand. They
shook. ‘Jesus, big hands,’ Johno noted. ‘You’re an
excellent bullet stop.’ Bambitou lifted his eyebrows.
‘There’s a room booked for you, all paid, airplane tickets

on their way,’ Johno explained. ‘Order anything you
want.’ He faced the senior agent. ‘Can you give us ten?
Check the other rooms, yeah?’
The agent glanced at Bambitou and withdrew, closing
the door, Johno leading his guest towards a seat as
Thomas appeared.

‘Wow!’ Thomas let out. ‘He’s really big!’ He ran over.

‘What basketball team do you play for?’

‘I’m an FBI agent, son.’ They sat.

Thomas closed in on Bambitou. ‘But you play
basketball?’
Bambitou glanced at Johno, then back to Thomas. ‘In
college.’

‘Can I have your autograph and a photo?’

Bambitou frowned at Thomas.

‘Thomas, later,’ Joho instructed. ‘Order some room
service.’

Thomas found the menus and sat reading them.

‘Your kid?’ Bambitou enquired.

‘Yes.’
‘Sounds

European?’

‘He is, he’s Swiss,’ Johno said as he watched Thomas.

‘His mother worked in our kitchens, got killed in a nerve
gas attack.’

‘That didn’t make the papers, certainly not here.’

Johno had not taken his gaze of the studious boy. ‘Our

fault he got orphaned, so I adopted him.’

‘Good of you,’ Bambitou said after a moment. ‘Where

are the other guys I met? Fit guy and the dwarf?’
Johno faced his guest, his features hardening. ‘Fit guy
is fine, dwarf … got himself killed in the line of duty,
trying to save others.’

Bambitou shrugged. ‘Sorry.’ After a moment he asked,

‘What you need me for?’
‘Bullet stop, like I said.’

Bambitou offered Johno a pair of tired eyes. ‘And the
shooters?’

‘Same bunch, or similar. Rogue element.’

‘They’re not official?’

Johno shook his head. ‘No. And your lot cleaned house

after the last episode.’
‘Not

enough?’

Johno gave his guest a reluctant tip of his head. ‘I think

you’re probably not compromised, and that’s what I need -
an honest man.’

‘To help protect you?’

Johno nodded. ‘Random itinerary for a few days, route

changes, and keeping an eye on that lot outside – just in
case.’
Bambitou sighed. ‘Then I’ll start by checking them
out. Thoroughly.’

Johno offered his guest an amused grin. ‘Earning your

keep already.’

Bambitou squinted at Johno. ‘Is the funny moustache a

disguise?’
Johno faced Thomas as the boy fell off his chair
laughing.

After a thirty-minute helicopter ride south of the capital
Johno and Thomas landed on an innocuous looking golf
course; a large hotel complex in the distance, a two-storey
clubhouse close by, a sprinkling of security guards dotted
around.
Stepping down from the helicopter they were greeted
by a man in a suit with stern features, a quick handshake
for Johno, before being led into the clubhouse. An airport-
style metal detector was the first line of security, some
odd-looking wands the second, followed by a quick frisk.

Through several doors they followed their initial host
at a brisk pace, the walls adorned with golfers in pose,
many celebrities or former Presidents. Finally they were
there, the inner sanctum; a simple room with a stone
fireplace and a large table which Johno recognised from
prior video conferences. Stanton sat at the head of the
table, two guards behind, but out of earshot from normal
conversation.
‘So, this is where it all happens?’ Johno asked as he
walked around, checking the photographs on the wall.
‘Where did Beesely sit?’
Stanton eased up. ‘When in attendance, which was
never often, anywhere the annoying bum liked.’
They shook. Stanton gestured Johno to the nearest
chair, Thomas checking each photograph carefully, mostly
on tip-toes.

Johno sat, running a hand over the table’s cool surface.

‘What is it about big tables?’

‘Traditional meeting places, tables. And for eating off,

of course. I suppose, during the Middle Ages, they ate and
then they discussed business - dual role.’ Stanton cut the
end off a cigar.

Surprised, Johno asked, ‘We can smoke in here?’

‘No smoking bans here … yet!’

Johno lit up, refusing a cigar from Stanton.

‘So, Johno, some problems? Problems big enough for a

personal visit?’
Johno took a moment. ‘First, a question. Any link
between Henry and the Vatican?’
Stanton lit his cigar, taking many seconds. Finally he
made eye contact. ‘Links, without a doubt. Unwanted
links, hard to pin down.’
‘Why?’
‘First, Henry was an Ambassador to Italy. So, if the
question is, did he know people in the Italian Government,
then yes – of course. Did he know people in the Vatican –

certainly. Was he running operations that we were not
aware of … then I’d say no. Unless, of course, you are
about to prove me wrong.’
Stanton waited, Johno just staring back as he smoked.
He continued, ‘What you need to understand about the
Vatican is that since the Second World War they’ve
helped us – the CIA – run operations on a large scale
around the world, against communism. Their priests could
go where we couldn’t, so were a great ally. Still are, to a
small degree, in Central America.’
‘And did … Henry run these kind of operations with
the Vatican?’
‘No, not his area. Although he would have played his
part in Gladio.’

‘I read up on that recently.’

‘And?’ Stanton posed.

‘For the most part counter productive. Force didn’t
destroy communism, their desire for a bigger television set
did.’

Stanton smiled. ‘A very simple explanation that would

explain a hundred thousand word thesis on the subject. So,
any specific concerns about Henry?’
Johno glanced at the ceiling. ‘I got a tip-of recently,
from a Vatican insider.’

Stanton’s eyes widened. ‘About Henry?’

‘And a lot of other stuff. War’s back on.’

‘Which

…

war … are we talking about here?’

Johno faced his host. ‘The same one.’

Stanton frowned his lack of understanding. ‘Which
one?’
Johno sighed. ‘They’re all connected. The nerve agent
attack on us, Henry, Kirkpatrick, Luchenkov, the dirty
bomb attacks on London, the Vatican, Shue and even old
boy Gunter.’

‘Christ, how is all that lot connected?’

Johno reached across and tapped his cigarette over
Stanton’s ashtray. ‘Same spider in the middle, pulling the
strings every step of the way.’

Stanton straightened, surprised. ‘What the hell are you

getting at?’

‘You tell me … how they connect, lord and master of

all he surveys.’

‘Up to now I didn’t think they did.’

Johno stood and walked in a small circle. Facing
Stanton again he began, arms held wide, ‘Imagine a table,
just like this, with some people sat around it. Imagine a
hundred powerful and rich men, a dozen at the top table.
Sat with them is Henry, next to Luchenkov. Sat next to
them … a cardinal or two.’
Stanton stared. ‘Luchenkov, Henry and the Vatican?
On the same fucking table?’

‘Part of the same group, or linked to it. Certainly under

its influence.’
‘Henry would never attack the UK!’ Stanton barked.
‘Nor would the Vatican!’
‘Guess you’re not as smart as you like to think you
are,’ Johno stated, his eyes cold. ‘Guess K2 has reached
maturity of late.’ He sat back down, slouching as best he
could in the rigid seats and taking a drag.

‘You have proof?’ Stanton gasped.

Johno nodded. ‘Getting rid of the British Prime
Minister was the right thing to do, but for the wrong
reason.’
‘How’s

he connected?’

Johno blew out. ‘He started this whole thing off. And
rightly so, I suppose.’
‘How

so?’

Johno turned away, staring at the fireplace. ‘You lot
went to Def Con Three over the attacks on the British
Navy, the harm to NATO. If you had a target to strike
back at, would you?’ He faced Stanton and waited.

‘Of

course.’

‘Are you sure? Would you cut you left hand off it
misbehaved?’

‘You’re not making much sense, Johno!’

‘If the people responsible were allies, would you strike

at them?’
Stanton eased back. ‘That depends. We would,
obviously, wish to cut-out the rotten elements without
harming an ally, and quietly.’
‘Which is just what I was considering doing,’ Johno
said with a menacing smile. ‘But … but I’d have to kill
three hundred and fifty people to do so.’

‘Three hundred and fifty? You have a list?’

‘No, not much of start on it either,’ Johno reluctantly
admitted.

‘Start making some sense, huh?’ Stanton implored.

‘Let’s work backwards. Ship full of explosives goes
bang. Ship sails from the Far East, stopping off in a …
French port, where the explosives are packed -’
‘French!’
Johno

nodded.

‘Jesus! The fall-out from that could rip Europe apart!’

‘And NATO in Europe. So, French explosives, paid for

by a French millionaire with the assistance of his buddies
in the French Secret Service.’
Stanton stood, aghast at the suggestion. He turned full
circle, thinking hard. Facing Johno he said, ‘How the hell
did we miss this?’

‘A cautious tight group who don’t like Yanks, or Brits.

Or Jews.’

‘What else?’ Stanton whispered.

‘The reason for the boat. Well, simple really – the dirty

bombs didn’t achieve the desired effect.’
‘Desired

effect?’

‘To scare the British Prime Minister.’

‘Scare him? Away from what?’

‘You know, they were never intended to be made into
dirty-bombs, just driven into London and found - a
message for the P.M. Don’t mess with us! But he didn’t
heed the message, thanks in part to K2, so a firmer
message was needed – a real kick up the pants, and
something that would dislodge him as well.’
‘The British Prime Minister … was threatened by a
foreign power?’
‘Not by a foreign power,’ Johno explained, ‘but by a
group of private individuals … who have grown petty
damned strong. And you’re still disappointing me by not
knowing who.’
Stanton sighed. ‘I’m disappointing myself as well.
Henry got the better of us.’

‘Groups within groups,’ Johno quoted.

Stanton coughed a quick laugh. ‘So, who are they?’

‘They … are a wide web. And that’s their strength and

our weakness. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll
begin.

‘After the Second World War Switzerland had made a

lot of dosh from dealing with the Germans, not to mention
the Nazi treasures hidden in deep dark vaults. You lot
went after them for a while, stopping when the Cold War
heated up – people like Gunter and Shue spying on the
Russians, so they were left alone. Their money went to
fund some of Europe’s largest corporations today. There
is, apparently, a hidden room somewhere with files as to
how those corporations got started.’
Stanton gave a look of mock concern. ‘Jesus. That
could upset a few.’

Johno carefully nodded, making firm eye contact.

Continuing he said, ‘Back when the European Union
started people could immediately see the potential for
corruption, which is far greater in countries like Italy,
Greece and Germany than it is in the UK. The Brits are
too stupid to defraud anyone.

‘So people started to issue EU contracts to their mates,

making good money. That grew into an institutionally
corrupt group, well connected to Ministers in Europe.
Maggie Thatcher had a go at them, got some money back,
but didn’t rock the boat too much. There’s also some
suggestion that some of those well-placed IRA bombs had
a helping hand.
‘Anyway, this group started by taking millions from
the EU budget, but now probably takes a couple hundred
million a year, part of that laundered directly through the
Vatican.’
Stanton slowly nodded, looking disappointed. ‘We
know the Vatican launders money for the Mafia, and
others. But they’re still valuable allies.’

‘They’ve stepped up a gear,’ Johno pointed out. ‘Their

church takings around the world have fallen, and they
need the money to keep the lights on – and their vicars
kept in kiddy porn.’

‘Does this … group have a name?’

‘Their known as the Basel Group.’

‘Basel? They’re freemasons. Christ, half the former
heads of Europe are members! Presidents, ministers,
industrialists and financiers, not to mention royal families.
Most of their top table would be instantly recognised.’
Johno nodded his agreement. ‘And they’d be very
unhappy if the UK Government made good on its promise
of widespread forensic accountants looking up their
skirts.’
‘That’s what triggered this? A British threat to expose
them?’
Johno confirmed with a saddened nod. ‘And now that
they think they’ve got away with it – what comes next?’
Stanton took a long breath. ‘And just what the hell is
K2 planning on doing? You expose this lot and Europe is
rocked to its core!’

‘Really? You noticed that aspect as well, did you?’
Johno sarcastically offered.
Stanton puffed his cigar for several seconds. ‘So?
What’ll you do?’

‘Only thing we can do … kill them all.’

Stanton stood again. ‘Kill them all!’ he barked. Are
you mad? Most of them are celebrities, crown princes or
former presidents! Don’t you think you’ll be noticed?’
Staring into the fireplace Johno stated, ‘For what they
did … it’s a price I’m prepared to pay.’
‘K2 will be destroyed, you’ll all end up in jail, or
dead!’

‘Goes with the territory, Mister Stanton,’ Johno coldly

stated.

Stanton sat. ‘Just how the hell could you expect to get

away with it?’
‘No

need.’

‘No

need?’

‘If my plan works then the bad guys are all linked to
each other by their deaths. We’ll make sure the financial
irregularities hit the papers - the media will do the rest.
They’ll all blame each other with their silence.’

‘The effect on the EU will be horrendous!’

Johno made strong eye contact. ‘And what effect will
letting them grow have? How long till they threaten you?’
Stanton considered that question carefully, taking
several puffs of his cigar.
‘Besides,’ Johno added. ‘The Governments of Europe
will soon see the corruption, going to great lengths to hide
it. It’s their necks as well.’

‘I need time to think about this, discuss it –’

‘No. No time, no discussion.’ Stanton was taken aback.

‘You either help me, my way, or we part company.’
Stanton said nothing for several seconds. ‘And what
way would that be?’

‘I need you take down fifty people … off the list,
including those far and wide on the chosen day. I also
need you to nudge Mossad into helping. And no
discussion of this with your buddies here, can’t take the
risk. If we attack and lose, they’ll expose K2 and shut us
down in a minute. If they know we’re coming - same deal.
Only way to be sure – is to kill them all on the same day.’
Stanton slowly nodded. ‘That makes sense, although I
can’t believe we’re even discussing this.’
Johno eased up, facing Stanton squarely. ‘Think about
it then, let me know … because we’re doing it with you, or
without you. If it destroys K2 and kills us all, so be it. But
if you decide against helping, don’t discuss it here till it’s
done. Then don’t ever contact us again.’

‘Now who’s being threatening?’

‘The stupid foot soldier about to give his life for what
he believes in.’ He led Thomas out, Stanton watching him
go.

‘By God he’s a Beesely.’

Coming of age

Stanton sighed so loud his wife put down her book,
marking the page.

She gestured towards a chair. ‘Beesely?’

‘No, his son.’

‘Johno?’
Stanton gave his wife a tired nod, looking drained.
‘He’s a chip of the old block as the Brits’ say, although I
can’t do the accent.’
‘He’s here? That’s why the change of plans?’ she
gently enquired.
Again Stanton nodded. ‘This is going to be bad, very
bad, which is why I’m discussing this with you – and not
the group.’
Her brow furrowed as she eased forwards. ‘Is that …
wise?’
‘Doubt it, but Johno suggests they may have been
compromised.’

‘Again? Dear me! Who … this time, is linked in?’

‘The Basel Group, Euro-freemasons.’

‘They never caused anyone any problems. They don’t

allow Americans in, but they’ve never been an issue. What
have they done?’
‘They were behind the attack on the British city of
Portsmouth.’
She straightened. ‘Why on earth would they get
involved with such a thing?’
‘Seems they piggy-backed Luchenkov’s desires to
inflict harm, to warn off the UK Government from
investigating their finances.’
She took a moment. ‘I can see that would be a
problem, it could put a lot of powerful and prominent

Europeans in the dock. Would shake-up the European
Union as well.’

‘They obviously took the threat from the Brit’s serious,

a threat to send in forensic accountants by all accounts. If
they back-dated that investigation it would put a thousand
prominent figures in prison, including former Prime
Ministers and Ministers.’
She eased back, still holding her book. ‘So, how will
you solve the paradox?’

Stanton lifted his eyes and tipped his head. ‘I’m not in

the driving seat, Johno is.’

‘What will he do?’ she puzzled.

‘Go all out after them, destroying K2 and Europe in the

process.’
She considered it, placing down her book. ‘Have you
attempted to … refine his approach? Or even stop it.’

‘He said an interesting thing tonight. Given the success

they’ve found, Basel that is, in getting away with
threatening the UK… what comes next?’
Now it was Mrs Stanton’s turn to sigh. ‘He’s got a
point. They’ve grown strong, and won this fight. How
long before they have their own political agenda for
Europe? Since they never wanted to talk with you, we’d
have to assume that their … future agenda will not be
palatable to us.’
Stanton nodded to himself. ‘They’ve moved quickly
from mafia-style construction contracts to large-scale
terrorist attacks. If they adopt a French attitude to us…’

‘How will K2 deal with them?’ she enquired.

‘Quite clever, and practical. Kill them all on the same
day.’

Her eyes widened. ‘How many people?’

Stanton lifted his head. ‘Three hundred plus!’

‘My God. The publicity!’

‘That’ll help, actually - all these people will get linked

by the time and method of their deaths. After that,

everyone will assume some mafia style bloodletting,
corruption at the core, European Governments going to
great length to play it down. As soon as the story hits, the
families of those dead will go to great lengths to
disassociate their loved ones from the group, or they get
tarred with that brush as well.’
‘Seems like he’s given it a great deal of thought,’ she
conceded.
‘As I said, practical in its audacity,’ he reluctantly
admitted.

‘And the chances of success?’

‘With that many factors in play, not good. But the
more they kill, the better their chances of the Europeans
burying it. Twenty would hit the papers, a hundred would
cause questions before outrage.’

‘And our part?’ she delicately broached.

‘He wants us to take down fifty from the list of three
hundred.’

‘That’s still a lot.’

He shrugged. ‘If we brought in freelancers from all
over - just for one job each then out – maybe it could be
done. One shooter per subject, none of which is expecting
trouble – we’d hope – or too well protected.’

‘Sounds like you’re considering it?’

The puppy ran in, followed by his granddaughter, both

warmly greeted before the girl chased the puppy into a
conservatory.

Stanton added, ‘If we don’t help … we lose K2, Johno

was quite blunt about that – help or else. And faced with
the prospect of losing control of Europe - from the inside
out - not that much of a choice.’

* * *

A knock on the door and the hotels’ manager was led in.
He quickly closed in on Johno. ‘Sir, we’ve had a lot of
complaints.’

‘Really? Snoring was I?’

The manager stumbled. ‘Snoring? No, sir. The
security! There’s now a SWAT team here.’
‘Really? I must be more popular than I realised. Tell
you what, turf out everyone on this floor, give them ten
thousand dollars compensation, bill it to me … along with
all the rooms.’

The manager straightened and blinked. ‘Sir?’

‘You heard. I’ll have a million in cash brought straight

around. Will that … you know … fix your whinging?’
‘I, sir, have not been … whinging, as you say. The
guests –’
‘Are going somewhere else,’ Johno finished off,
leaving his firm gaze on the manager. The man stepped
briskly out.
‘You enjoyed that,’ Bambitou suggested, Johno’s
smirk suggesting he was spot on in his assessment.
Another knock was followed by Elle Rosen and Mosh
appearing.

Johno jumped up. ‘Elle, come on in.’

Thomas said hello very politely, enquiring about the
paintings.
‘They were very well received,’ Mosh offered with
thanks. He shook Johno’s hand, an odd look for Bambitou.
Johno faced Bambitou. ‘Sorry, mate, but can you step
out for a moment.’

Bambitou eased up his six foot four frame. ‘Sure, need

a leg stretch.’ He offered the visitors quick nods before
closing the door.

Johno kicked out two chairs and sat. ‘Want anything?’

‘No, we’re fine,’ Mosh said. ‘So, how is Beesely?’

‘Much better since the stroke, left side not co-operating

thou.’

‘And

know

you seem to have taken a much greater role

within K2,’ Mosh stated.
‘Beesely passed ownership to me. Dumb idea, but
that’s life, eh.’
‘Your entry to the Lodge would not have been taken
lightly,’ Mosh pointed out.
‘There’s no accounting for taste,’ Johno said with a
smile. ‘Besides, they probably did it to rope me in.’

Mosh made brief eye contact with Elle. ‘And now a …

firm request from Mr Stanton that we listen to what you
have to request. He seems to be … concerned.’
‘So he should be,’ Johno said, the smirk gone. ‘You
guys familiar with The Basel Freemason Group?’
‘Some,’ Mosh answered. ‘They are a well-established
European freemason group, centred around Germany and
Italy. They don’t like Americans, or British.’

‘Or Jews!’ Johno pointed out.

‘Or Jews,’ Mosh quietly admitted after a moments
reflection.

‘Got anyone inside?’ Johno bluntly asked.

‘On the periphery of the French branch,’ Elle informed

him.
Johno nodded slowly to himself. ‘Had any problems
with them?’

‘No,’ Mosh adamantly replied. ‘Why your interest?’

Johno glanced out of the window. ‘You guys are not as

smart as I’d hoped you were.’

‘Johno?’ Elle quietly nudged a few seconds later.

Johno turned back, studying them both for a moment.
‘They were behind the nerve gas attack on us.’ The
visitors glanced at each other. ‘They were also in bed with
Henry O’Sullivan, possibly the real buyers of the signature
DNA virus.’ Again the visitors made eye contact, worried
looks exchanged. ‘And the final piece of the puzzle - that
you don’t seem to have - they influenced Luchenkov,
facilitating the attack on the UK.’

Mosh stared back, stunned. ‘Why?’ he gasped.

‘The UK Government threatened to send in forensic
accountants, to go back through all EU projects since day
one.’
Mosh slowly nodded to himself, looking concerned.
‘All EU countries have always known, but turned a blind
eye to it.’
‘Lodge are worried,’ Johno began. ‘Someone else
setting the future direction of Europe; un-elected, corrupt,
anti-American, anti-British.’ He watched them both
carefully as they considered his words.

‘We had no idea they had gone so far,’ Mosh admitted.

‘But we have heard rumours.’
‘They risk destroying Europe … and their own gravy
train,’ Johno suggested. ‘If the UK Government releases
what it knows to the press…?’
‘It would be chaos,’ Elle noted. ‘But why has the UK
Government remained silent?’ Johno grinned widely.
‘Ah,’ Elle let out. ‘They have you and Beesely!’
Johno pointed out, ‘If we deal with it, and get caught,
Europe doesn’t break apart. If the PM sends in the Navy it
does. Odd really: Brits’ get attacked, now keen not to lose
Europe. Sometimes, doing the right thing really stinks,
eh?’

‘What will you do?’ Mosh asked in a concerned tone.

‘Kill them all,’ Johno carefully mouthed. ‘All three
hundred and fifty two members.’

The visitors straightened.

‘How the hell do you expect to get away with it?’
Mosh demanded.
‘We don’t,’ came back without any thought. ‘If we
lose… we lose. But we’ll take down most of them as we
go.’

Mosh glanced at Elle, his chest heaving a deep breath.

‘All out war.’

‘Johno, you’ll lose everything,’ Elle cautioned.

‘After what they did … besides, how long till they
come for me? We’ve locked horns for months, lost fifty
dead and hundreds wounded. We’re getting worn down
and they haven’t thrown their best punch yet. Soon be a
reckoning. Rather it be on my timescale than theirs.’
‘There doesn’t seem to be much alternative,’ Mosh
quietly admitted.

‘None that I can see,’ Johno indicated. ‘And I’ve given

it a hell of a lot of thought. My poor old brain has been on
overtime.’

‘What do you want of us?’ Mosh finally asked.

‘First, couple thousand rounds of ammo, 9mm, glass,
Perspex and sugar-crystal bullets, light load. Then, a
thousand brand new unregistered pistols with silencers,
still in their boxes. Dot care what it costs, and I want it
delivered to the UK, not Zug. We have a mole or two there
reporting back to Basel.’

‘You have been compromised? Again?’ Elle asked.

‘It’s Europe - these fucker’s back garden,’ Johno
admitted with a shrug.
‘You did not need to drag us here to discus weapons,’
Mosh pointedly commented. ‘What else?’

Johno faced Mosh squarely. ‘If you’re up to it, I’d like

you to kill thirty people off the list around the Med.’

Mosh stared back. ‘You are assuming a lot … of our

friendship.’

Johno continued, without reacting to the last statement.

‘They’ll be a bunch on holiday around the Med - Greece,
Southern Italy, a Nile Cruise, Malta.’ He waited. ‘We’ve
already helped you … financially. There’ll be further
assistance in what Beesely mentioned the other day, the
holocaust claims against the Swiss banks.’ He eased
forwards. ‘Mosh, we’ve already pushed the Swiss as much
as we dare.’

Finally, Mosh took a breath and said, ‘The publicity
around Europe would be horrendous, the effect on the
public...’
Johno

grinned.

‘What?’ Mosh asked.

‘If these fuckers are all killed in the same way, just as

the newspapers report massive financial irregularities…’

‘Some will not wish to be associated,’ Elle cut in with.

‘Many will hide the fact.’
‘Including,’ Johno said with raised eyebrows for
emphasis, ‘some Governments. As soon as they know
what’s happening they’ll panic and try and cover it up.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ Mosh put in. ‘The papers will crucify

the Governments. The Italian Government will fall.
Again.’

Johno shrugged. ‘We’ll pay what’s needed –’

Mosh raised a flat hand, cutting off Johno. ‘When do
you act?’
‘Five days or so.’ Johno shrugged. ‘Depends on them,
they may move first.’

‘Do you think they know you are coming?’ Elle asked,

a concerned frown.
‘Nope. They may suspect we’ll turn on them, that I’ll
fix soon, just to keep them quiet. Stanton hasn’t informed
the Lodge, and I don’t want you fuckers advertising the
fact. Not even Otto knows what I’ve got planned yet, no
one at K2 does – so I’m reasonably sure they don’t know
yet. If they did, they’d expose K2 for sure to the papers,
put pressure on the Swiss Government to get rid of us.’

‘Why haven’t they done that yet?’ Elle asked.

Johno shrugged. ‘They have moles inside, plus I
reckon they have their own plans for K2. We, did,
apparently, do their bidding by removing Shue. And
Gunter for that matter.

‘Besides, right now they want a quiet Europe,

especially after the attacks on the UK. They must think the

Yanks got Luchenkov, so probably sweating a bit right
now. Stock markets are fucked up, which hurts them as
much as anyone. But there is one way to be sure they
don’t know I’m coming.’

‘What’s that?’ Elle asked.

‘I’m still breathing,’ Johno said with a grin. ‘Besides,
they haven’t quite worked out yet why we get so much
help for the Yanks. These fuckers don’t seem to know
much about the Lodge, certainly not Beesely’s relationship
with them. Think that caught them off guard a bit.’
Mosh nodded in agreement. ‘Where do you want the
weapons sent?’

‘Swindon, our rescue force. No sooner than three days,

no later than five. Contact will be Kev.’

‘We’ll give you a decision on the other matter in a day

or two.’ Mosh stood, followed up by Johno.

Johno took Mosh’s hand and made strong eye contact.

‘If you and Stanton don’t help, we’ll probably fail. So this
may be goodbye.’
Mosh reluctantly nodded, lowering his head as he led
Elle out.
Thomas walked over. ‘You spoke nice and soft and
pleasant to them, not like to the Pope. I am proud of you.’

Johno laughed, messing up the boy’s hair.

From the hotel lobby Johno made a call on a public phone.
‘Kev, that you?’

‘Shit, Johno, middle the bastard night!’

‘Where

are

you?’

‘In the new place, first fucking day and ya wakes me.
Gotta be bad luck or something.’
‘Listen up. Day after tomorrow, Swindon, meet me.
Between now and then I need you to round up as many ex-
troopers are you can if they’re up to some wet work.’

‘Jesus, what’s up?’

‘Got some spies in K2 keeping a tab on me, need to be

careful. Need some outsiders.’

‘What’s the job?’

‘Found a bunch of people in bed with Luchenkov, his
mafia contacts around Europe. We’re going after them.’

‘These friends of Luchenkov’s –’

‘They supplied the wherewithal for the attacks on the
UK and us, logistics and handholding. He had a lot of help
from some mafia cockroaches.’

‘We going for them?’

‘Big time, probably won’t survive it, they’re well
connected as fuck – some stuff I can’t say on the phone.’
‘Christ,’ Kev sighed. ‘Count me in, Boss. I’ll make
some calls in the morning.’

‘How’s the new estate?’

‘Lovely, for the whole day I had it, fucker!’ He hung
up.

Guido Pepi cut the end of a cigar and eased back as his
assistant approached. Sitting with his back to a gentle log
fire he lit up, the large desk in front of him bare but for a
single file, a buff coloured folder.
‘Sir.’ The assistant waited reverently, the room lights
off, the only illumination coming from the flickering
yellow flames.
Pepi looked up, running a hand through his long and
thick silver hair.

‘Sir. Johno is in America, Beesely and Otto are in Zug

with Dame Helen.’
Pepi blew out a sizeable pawl of grey smoke. Calmly
and confidently he asked, ‘Any more … tricks from our
friend?’
‘No,

sir.’

‘Anything happening at K2?’ Pepi asked in a deep,
rich voice.
‘Nothing significant, sir. No mention of the group, no
investigations.’

‘And the British?’ Pepi asked.

‘A new leader will be announced today, sir, and no
investigation from their authorities. The trail ends with
Luchenkov.’

‘And he knows nothing of interest. Any news as to his

whereabouts?’
‘At K2 they believe he was picked up by the
Americans.’

Pepi chuckled. ‘Maybe they took him to Guantanamo!’

He eased up and walked to the window, looking down at
the house lights in the distance, a clear night and full moon
bathing the Tivoli countryside in a soft grey light.

Without looking around he added, ‘We will wait a few

weeks, let things settle. We need our people close to the
British to see how their investigation goes.’
He turned. ‘Then we shall have to deal with the K2
leadership.’

* * *

A knock at the bedroom door and Maurice Edwardo, head
of the Marseille mafia, was shown in. Johno, Thomas and
Bambitou sat eating pizza, Edwardo waved over, now
warmly wrapped in a heavy coat.
‘Sorry about the cuisine,’ Johno offered. ‘Not up to
French standards.’
‘I have eaten,’ came back in a thick French accent.
Edwardo stood just five feet eight tall, a portly figure. He
dragged the last remaining empty chair over and sat. ‘A
long way to come for a talk, Herr Johno,’ he grumbled.

‘It’ll be worth it,’ Johno assured him. ‘Edwardo, this is

Special Agent Bambitou of the FBI.’

Edwardo was immediately uneasy.

‘Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble,’ Johno
quickly put in, enjoying his guests discomfort.
‘And just who is this … gentlemen?’ Bambitou
enquired, a professional interest in the new arrival.
Johno faced him, a slight grin. ‘The kind of fella that
would get you sacked if you sat in a room with him eating
pizza.’

‘Oh.’ Bambitou stood. ‘I need a shower anyway.’

‘Give us twenty minutes,’ Johno suggested as
Bambitou headed to the door.
With the door shut Edwardo asked, ‘What is so
important that we must meet here? I take a risk at the
airport!’
‘We got you good false passports,’ Johno scoffed.
‘Stop complaining.’

‘So, what is it?’ Edwardo pressed.

Johno wiped his hands with a tissue. ‘If you had to,
how many people could you kill in a single day – people
in the South of France?’
‘How

many?’

Johno

nodded.

Edwardo made a face. ‘Maybe … twenty.’

‘Could you make that … maybe thirty?’

Edwardo gave a large, Gallic shrug, making another
face. ‘Maybe. But it will not be easy.’
Johno offered him neutral features. ‘Twenty million
dollars.’

‘These people, they cannot be killed by K2?’ Edwardo

pointedly enquired.

‘K2 is very busy, we had many men killed and injured

recently.’
Edwardo considered it. ‘These people, they are very
important?’
Johno nodded. ‘Some famous, some politicians, one a
former Prime Minister.’

The guests’ eyebrows shot up. ‘It will not be so easy,
the police will look very hard afterwards,’ Edwardo
complained. ‘The gunmen, they will want to go away for
many years.’
‘Forty million dollars, my final offer. But make no
mistake, when you leave here – no discussion of this with
anyone, not even your family or number two. When I
contact you with the list and send the money you order it
done and then send the gunmen away. You … must be out
of France when it happens.’
Edwardo’s expression suggested he agreed with that
idea. ‘Of course. This is a big problem for us all if the
police know.’

‘Yeah, well the last time we gave you a job the French

police came to see us the next day.’

Edwardo was horrified. ‘They knew?’

Johno gave him a quick nod.

‘So, why not arrest us?’ Edwardo puzzled.

‘That, my friend, is a bit of a mystery. But I have an
idea. So when you go back, trust no one, give the money
to the gunmen alone so they don’t know each other. The
other problem … is that these people must all be killed in
a certain way, so that the police know they’re linked
together.’

‘Are you crazy, they will connect us?’ Edwardo hissed.

Johno shook his head. ‘They’ll connect to the people
who kill in this way. When you do this job many others
will do similar killings - the police won’t think about you.’
‘You want the police to think it is you?’ Edwardo
gasped.
‘Not quite, we’ll be using someone else’s methods.
Relax for a day, Edwardo, but be back the day after, make
ready. Your money will be in Panama.’
‘Ah, good, away from Europe. I will travel with my
family.’ He stood. ‘I will wait your call. After this, I am
tourist – maybe forever!’

‘Oh, one more thing, nearly forgot. Three weeks ago a

large consignment of explosives was loaded into a ship in
Marseille. Ship’s name was –’
‘Nan King, registered in Malta, operated by a
Cambodian company,’ Edward finished off. ‘I thought you
my ask this question some day.’
‘And?’

Johno

pressed.

Edwardo reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a

rolled up file, a dozen pages and numerous photographs.
‘And how much is this worth?’
‘An extra twenty million dollars. Which, for what this
is … is a snip.’

Edwardo handed it over. ‘Then it is good fortune I am

a suspicious man.’

Johno held up the file. ‘Does anyone know about this?’

‘I was very careful when I could see who was
organising the shipment.’
‘Good

man.’

‘Now I am definitely tourist for life. An … exile.’

Johno smiled as Edwardo left, the Frenchman never
having taken his coat off.

‘How many is that?’ Thomas asked, closing in.

‘If all goes well, fifty by the Yanks, ten by Kev’s gang,

thirty by our French buddy, another thirty by Mossad –
that’s a hundred and twenty.’
‘So, you have to kill another … two hundred and
thirty.’

‘Still a lot,’ Johno sighed. ‘It would mean just two men

for each target. They can get the job done, but a big risk of
getting caught.’
‘Why?’
‘Some assassins are very good, just the single man –
sneak in, do the job, sneak out. Simple. But if you’re
going after someone in a town, in a house or big villa,
they’ll be lots of people around, guards and dogs. You
need some men to watch the street, some to silence the

dogs, some to watch the exits, some to monitor the police
channels. More people you have the better your chances of
success. Team effort.’

Thomas nodded studiously, considering ‘tradecraft’.

Grey emerged from the dark water with his dive buddy,
both warmly clothed in dry suits, several inner thermal
layers for the cold water in the flooded cave. He passed up
a rope, grabbed by waiting K2 cavers. Spitting out his
regulator he said, ‘Pull on that, there’s two dead divers
attached.’
‘Dead divers?’ the K2 cavers gasped. ‘But only you
went down?’

‘They’ve been there thirty years!’ Grey shouted.

‘Ah, divers from before,’ the K2 caver surmised.

Thirty minutes later Mr Grey broke the news to the
interested parties, Casper and Cardinal Diaz. ‘The two
dead divers have kit from the late sixties, which fits the
time line. They’re well preserved if you want to take a
look, I’m sure K2 will try and identify them.’
Diaz carefully studied Mr Grey. ‘Anything else … of
interest?’
‘Signs that the divers were there for quite some time,
maybe a year or two of searching.’

‘And they did not find anything,’ Diaz noted.

‘Our equipment today is much better, so we may find
what they missed, or … we may just waste a lot of time.’

‘Can the cave be drained?’ Diaz asked.

Grey smiled. ‘My thoughts exactly. There’s a cave-in
beyond where we found the divers. I think it blocks the
lake water, so we might be able to secure this end of the
cave, then add a pressure door above it – with an airlock,
pump in air then remove the cave-in.’

‘How will that help?’ Casper enquired.

‘With the air pressure up the water will be forced back,

showing us as were it comes out, then the tunnel end in the
lake can be sealed, maybe.’ He shrugged. ‘If this end of
the tunnel is anything more than two metres above the lake
surface we could pump it dry. After all, it probably filled
with rain water over the years, not necessarily lake water.’
‘I believe,’ Diaz began in patronising tones, ‘that we
are forty metres above the lake?’

‘And the cave well goes down fifty metres, after rising

ten metres from the grass outside.’

‘So, it will be close then,’ Diaz conceded.

Grey made firm eye contact. ‘Can’t use satellite
altimeters in a cave, Cardinal.’

‘I suppose not,’ Diaz admitted. ‘Do you mind if I look

at the bodies?’
‘Help

yourself,

sir.’

Diaz stepped out, Grey and Casper watching him go.

‘He is not very trusting,’ Casper noted.

‘Can’t blame the fella, he has his orders. And if the
treasure is found, with the naughty bits in there, his job
gets a lot harder.’ Grey finally faced Casper as the man
sat. ‘You not wanting a look, sir?’

‘I am sure, Mr Grey, that if K2 wished me to be

convinced by evidence either way, they could do so quite
effectively.’
‘A

pragmatist!’

‘No. A Jew! We gave pragmatism to you lot. Anyway,

where is our illustrious adjudicator?’
‘States,

think.’

‘And will he be gracing us with is presence anytime
soon?’
‘Let’s hope not,’ Grey said with a wink, turning and
heading out.

Grey found Otto in the command centre a few minutes
later.
‘What news?’ Otto enquired, straightening and
clasping his hands behind his back.
‘Nothing so far, sir. But I’d like to get some specialist
kit, give it a dry search.’

‘Dry … search?’

‘We can seal up the shaft, put in a small air chamber,
pump high-pressure air in and force the water out. If the
seals hold we can move around freely, no diving gear, then
check the walls.’
‘Given the dead divers, have they not already been
checked thoroughly?’

‘Unlikely, sir. Hence the use of divers. The tunnel was

flooded back then, and very difficult to do anything in
dive suits other than find what’s under your nose, thirty
minutes at a time.’

Otto put his chin out. ‘So, pumping out the water could

reveal a secret passage,’ he said, looking past Grey.
Making eye contact again he ordered, ‘Write down a list
of what equipment you will need –’ Grey lifted a page.
Otto took it. ‘How did you know I would approve it?’
‘Sooner that cave is explored by … all … interested
parties, the sooner you can get back to normal life.’

Otto offered him a glum look. ‘Leave it with me for an

hour.’

Hail to the chief

Flicking idly through the hotel advertising literature, on
what to see and do in Washington on a chilly September
night, Johno noticed the advert for a theatrical agency,
‘White House Too!’ They had a look-a-like President.
He grinned to himself. With Thomas in his own room
he made a call on the hotel phone.

An hour later they sat watching television, chairs re-
arranged, feet up, pizza and popcorn. With a knock at the
door Bambitou slowly eased up, an indignant glance at
Johno – who had not made any move in that direction –
then answered the door.
‘Mr President,’ Bambitou dryly stated. ‘Please, come
in.’
Thomas jumped up, hastily closing pizza-box lids and
panicking. Two ‘Secret Service’ agents walked in, dark
blue suits, shortly cropped hair, earpiece radios. Thomas
tried to both hide his frantic hand signals, and get Johno
up at the same time. Johno looked around as ‘Mr
President’ entered. Thomas stood wide-eyed and nervous,
but also delighted to be meeting the President of the
United States; his friends would never believe this.
Johno eventually eased up as the last two Secret
Service agents stepped in and closed the doors. ‘Alright,
mate?’

‘Mister Johno. I’ve heard a lot about you.’ They shook.

‘You’re not as tall as you seem on the TV,’ Johno
joked. He turned, a gesture towards Thomas. ‘This is my
lad, Thomas.’
The President leant in and shook. ‘Glad to make your
acquaintance, son,’ he said in a broad Texas accent.

‘Sir,’ was all that Thomas could get out.

Bambitou stood at the back, a resigned, almost bored,
look.
The President began, addressing Johno, ‘Had to come
here to meet, would be awkward if people saw you at the
White House.’

‘Yeah, no bother. Want some pizza?’

‘Sure, starved. Those White House meals are all fancy

pants and no substance. Like a good steak, myself.’ He
faced Thomas. ‘How about you, son, you like a good
steak?’

Thomas nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yessir.’

The President messed up his hair, winked and joined
Johno, grabbing a slice of pizza. ‘Good pizza. Never get
this in the White House.’
‘Have you discussed my request with your cabinet
yet?’ Johno asked.
‘Yeah, but we ain’t interested in helping out you
Limeys that much.’

Johno stood straight, seemingly offended. ‘Why not?’

‘We got our hands full in Iraq, so ask somebody else.’

The President took a mouthful of pizza.
‘That’s

our pizza,’ Johno curtly pointed out, snatching

it back.
‘Hey, ya all in my capital, asshole!’ He snatched it
back.

Thomas took a breath. And held it.

Johno took a large piece from the box, landing it on the

President’s chest, his nice white shirt and tie, as the Secret
Service jumped in. Two grabbed Johno whilst the second
two pushed the President quickly out of the bedroom door.
With Thomas watching, Johno got dragged by the elbows
and out of the door, Bambitou stopping Thomas from
following.
‘Best not to interfere,’ Bambitou said as he closed the
door. ‘We need to get a good lawyer for Johno. How do
you contact your people.’

Wide-eyed, Thomas lifted his phone.

Otto stood in his kitchen, Marie worried by the look on his
face as he stared at the phone in his hand.

‘Otto, what it is?’ she asked, now seriously concerned.

‘Johno threw a pizza … over the American President.
He… he needs a lawyer.’

Marie lifted a hand to her mouth. ‘My God!’

Minister Blaum dropped his phone, his wife firmly
believing that he was having a heart attack.

K2 managers ran about, shouting into phones in the
command centre, others stood staring at each other,
dumbstruck.

Like wildfire, the gossip went around the K2 guards, who,
for the most part, laughed hysterically. The great hall
housed several ready squads, all of whom were now
laughing, their K2 colleagues a little more sedate, the
guard commanders worried.

Pepi stood and stared at his assistant, stubbing out his
cigar. For a whole minute he was lost as to what to say or
do. Finally he said, ‘Well … I …. I guess this works to our
favour.’

Mr Stanton noticed one of his aids running towards the
Lodge table, where he now sat with his head of security.
‘Sir,’ the aid gasped, a little out of breath. ‘We just
picked up an intercept. Johno pushed a pizza into the
President’s face!’
Stanton stared for a moment, finally glancing at his
head of security before turning back to the aid. Without
looking down he hit a button on his phone.
‘Yes,

sir?’

‘Where’s

Johno?’

‘At his hotel, sir.’

‘And the President?’

‘Dallas,

sir.’

The aid stared at the phone, puzzled.

Stanton asked, still staring at the aid, ‘And what’s
happening at Johno’s hotel?’

‘He had a visit from a group of stage actors, sir.’

The aid dropped his shoulders.

‘Thank you,’ Stanton said towards the phone, hitting a

button. He took a moment. ‘Where … exactly … did that
news go?’

The aid sighed. ‘Right across Europe, sir.’

Stanton rubbed his face before facing his head of
security, a grin forming. ‘That should give those Euro-
slackers something to talk about!’

Otto knocked on Beesely’s door twenty minutes later, a
little out of breath and looking harassed. A nurse let Otto
in, Beesely now sat in his wheelchair.

‘Ah, Otto, come in.’

Otto stepped in. ‘You have not heard the news?’

‘News?’

Beesely

repeated.

Otto turned to the nurse. ‘Leave us, please.’ She
stepped out. With the door closed Otto approached
Beesely. ‘There has … has been an incident with Johno
and the American President.’
‘Incident?’

Beesely

gasped.

Otto took a deep breath. ‘He … apparently pushed
pizza into the face of the American President.’

‘Pizza? Well, at least it wasn’t a cream pie, eh?’

Otto blinked, frowning as Beesely started to laugh.

‘He … he needs a lawyer. I have already spoken with
the Embassy in Washington.’ Beesely laughed all the
more. Otto was astonished. ‘It is no laughing matter!’ he
gasped.

‘It wasn’t the President - it was an actor. He did it to
wind-up Thomas.’
Otto raised two clenched fists and faced the window, a
grizzled expression. ‘I will kill him!’’
‘President is in Texas at some summit, read it today.
And you, young man, should have more faith in Johno.
You actually thought he’d do it?’

Otto lowered his arms, he teeth still clenched. ‘I called

the Embassy, our President. Max Blaum is making plans
to fly there…’

Beesely roared with laughter. Otto kicked a wall before

lifting his phone.

With a knock on the door Bambitou eased up, stepped
across the large bedroom and opened the door, letting in
Mosh and Elle for the second time.
He faced Johno, offering tired eyes. ‘I know, I’ll
stretch my legs.’ Grabbing his coat he closed the door
behind himself.

Johno pulled out chairs for the guests, Thomas making

tea from a room-service trolley.
‘What would you like to drink?’ Thomas asked the
guests. ‘Tea, coffee or mineral water?’

Mosh smiled. ‘Tea, black, no sugar. Thank you.’

Elle said, ‘Tea, English style.’

‘Like Johno?’ Thomas asked.

‘No,’ Elle quickly put in. ‘Just half a tea-spoon of
sugar, not six!’
Laughing, Thomas fixed the drinks as the guests
settled themselves.

‘So,’ Johno began. ‘What’s the word?’

‘Not such a difficult decision in principal,’ Mosh
began. ‘But when our superiors factored in The Basel
Group’s links to Luchenkov and al-Qa’eda –’

‘A vested interest,’ Johno finished off. ‘Like I said to
Stanton, if they’ve gone this far … what’s next for them?’
‘And that is the greatest concern,’ Mosh said in
reflection. ‘Not to play down what they did in England.
The difficulty is in the political fall out, either way.’
‘Either way it shakes up Europe,’ Johno stated. ‘If the
full truth got out Europe’s screwed. If what I do gets out -
a lot of enquiries, scandal, corruption. Could set Europe
back twenty years.’

‘And if we do nothing, the final outcome may be even

worse,’ Elle added. ‘Either way, it’s a very bad situation.
No one will be a winner here, everyone loses something.’
Thomas placed down the drinks, being a dutiful host,
finally sitting next to Johno.
‘May I enquire, Johno,’ Mosh began, eyeing Thomas,
‘if it is … wise for your boy to know what goes on?’
‘Thomas here has saved my life … more than once.
We’re in this together, to the end.’ Thomas proudly
straightened, earning odd looks from the visitors. ‘So,
what’s the word?’ Johno pressed.
‘We’re not allowed to help in a large way,’ Mosh
stated. ‘We’re allowed to help logistically, with
intelligence, but … I think you will find a large number of
our people taking holidays in a few days, especially
around the Mediterranean. Because we can’t … put this on
the books, as you say, we’ll need some money for their …
direct expenses.’

‘You like Panama?’ Johno asked.

‘Never been,’ Mosh stated. ‘Why?’

‘You’ll have an account over there in a day or so. Ten

million dollars enough?’
‘More than enough,’ Mosh answered, an eyebrow
lifted.
‘Use it, let’s do this properly,’ Johno encouraged.
‘Sorted the hardware?’

‘Ready when you are. Give us eight hours notice,’ Elle

suggested.

‘Final problem,’ Johno let out with a sigh. He took out

a piece of crumpled paper. Holding onto it he said, ‘I need
the people on the list … dispatched in a particular
ritualistic way.’ The visitors both stiffened. ‘That’ll tie
them all together, not just the timing.’
He flattened the paper and held it so that both Israelis
could see it. They read the detail then glanced at each
other, both mildly shocked.
Mosh said, ‘Given that some of these … persons, will
be in hotels, such methods will prove … impractical.’
‘I figured that, so just the closest to it you can get
without risking your people getting caught. So long at part
one is always there, not a problem.’

Mosh glanced at Elle. ‘Part one, as you say, will cause

a lot of problems for … them.’

‘Them … need to detach themselves from such things

in future.’

‘Quite a … loud message, Johno,’ Elle cautioned.

‘But necessary,’ Johno insisted. ‘They should stick to
their remit, not getting involved with this crap.’

Mosh stood. ‘You have your reasons for this, we have

ours. When can we have the list?’
‘When I get hold of it,’ Johno said with a pained
expression as he stood.

‘You don’t have the list?’ Elle asked.

‘Not complete and up to date, no. Do you guys know
some of the people on the list?’
‘Some, yes. Perhaps fifty,’ Mosh admitted. ‘But not
many on the top table.’
‘Well, send me what you got … send it to Kev in
England, no contact through K2, just in case. And don’t
tell Kev what it is, label it up as … good wine producers.’

They shook.

‘Let’s hope you survive this,’ Elle offered Johno with a

concerned look.

‘It’s all out war,’ Johno coldly stated. ‘Them or us – it

always was, right from day one.’

* * *

For the second time in as many days Johno landed at The
Lodge, this time alone, Thomas at a basketball game with
Agent Bambitou. Stanton welcomed him with a handshake
and tired features. He poured out a wine for Johno,
topping up his own glass.

Johno lifted the glass. ‘Your good health, Dr Evil.’

Silently, Stanton lifted his glass.

‘Prost!’ Johno added before sipping the wine.

‘That Swiss?’ Stanton asked.

‘Don’t think so, I think they say it in Germany and
Austria as well. So, how goes the evil empire?’
Stanton forced a weak, tired smile. ‘Same old
problems. Just been thinking about wheat shortages caused
by us switching heavily to ethanol production. Plus the
Chinese need for raw materials has driven up a lot of
metals three-fold.’

‘World’s coming to an end,’ Johno said, finishing with

a sigh. ‘You buy into this Tipping Point crap?’
‘Very much so. But that’s next year’s problem, let’s
solve today’s, eh?’ He eased his face forwards. ‘Not least,
your relationship with our President.’
Johno grinned. ‘You heard, eh?’ Stanton shot back a
disapproving look, Johno taking a breath. ‘Mossad is on
board … in a small way, and I got another thirty on the list
… covered.’
Stanton’s features turned sullen. He faced the table.
‘How many will you try and tackle yourselves?’
‘Start at the top and work down with everything K2
has to offer. Good thing is – and this is between us for

now – old man Gunter had been planning this very fight
for forty years! Clever old fucker knew it would happened
some day, hence K2 and the excessive number of agents
and guards. Being a Swiss fucker helped, always planning
ahead. Swiss Government had a hand in letting old boy
Gunter build up K2 as well.’

‘Ah…’ Stanton said without looking up. ‘Some pieces

falling into place now.’

Johno added, shrugging, ‘We’ll get who we can off the

list. If there’s a gap we’ll search for them, but anyone who
does survive will leg it.’
Stanton’s expression suggested that that was
something of an understatement. ‘With the top end gone,
no one will be able to rebuild all the links that were in
place. As with us, they take decades.’ He sipped his wine.
‘It takes a long time to know if you can trust someone,
work with them, sure that they have no other agenda.
We’re all about longevity – we don’t deal with people who
have short term agendas.’

‘Hah! My agenda has a week to run, then I get myself

killed.’
Stanton studied Johno for several seconds. ‘I’ve seen
you put your life on the line for what you believe in many
times, giving up the chance to sit on a beach. That’s why
we voted you in –’

‘Not to reign me in?’ Johno toyed.

Stanton could not resist a smile. ‘You’re not as dumb
as you look.’ They laughed.

‘So, what’s the word, Bossman?’

‘First, we have an obligation to help the British.
Second, we have an obligation to secure NATO flanks.
Third, we have an obligation to pursue terrorists,
especially those attacking our allies. We even have an
obligation to protect Beesely and hunt down those who’ve
attacked him.’ He cut the end off a cigar.

‘You also have an obligation to your members…’

‘True enough. But, under the circumstances, I have to
take a tough decision without them, which is rare. But like
you said, Basel is well connected. If they see you coming
it’s all over.’
‘So?’
Stanton sighed. ‘So, I’ll tackle fifty on that list, worry
about the consequences later. The one good thing we have
in our favour … is the truth. If France or Germany get
difficult we point towards Portsmouth.’

‘Which should shut them up real quick!’

Stanton tipped his eyebrows as he lit up. He blew out a

pawl of grey smoke. ‘You’ve done your homework, quite
a good tactical thinker. So how come Dame Helen didn’t
come along?’

‘She’s a spy.’

Stanton eased upright. ‘What? She’s been
compromised?’
‘Only by me,’ Johno joked. ‘Twice a night, front and
back.’

Stanton was puzzled. ‘Who’s she spying for?’

‘British establishment. Men in grey suits.’

‘Who, in particular?’ Stanton pressed. ‘Not the
outgoing Prime Minister.’
‘Nope. I think you know them, gang of former heads
of intelligence, Generals, all ‘Sirs’ with exclusive London
clubs. British version of you, General Rose at the centre.’

‘Ah … him.’

‘You monitor them?’ Johno risked.

‘Obviously not. If it’s who I think, then they are a
loose, fluid group, not really any fixed structures. Besides,
how did you know about them?’

‘That’s for another day, Dr. Evil.’

Stanton laughed. ‘Poor Dame Helen.’

Johno glared at him. ‘Sorry?’

‘Having to be nice to you!’

Johno fought the urge to smile, and failed. ‘Listen,
when the list comes, I’ll be giving you Germany and the
north. That way you can fly your boys in on Military jets,
no customs, back out the same way.’

Stanton agreed. ‘Poor old Dame Helen.’

Johno stood. ‘I’m her bit of rough!’

* * *

As Johno stepped back into his hotel room he found
Thomas and Bambitou sat in silly hats made from foam,
Thomas waving giant foam hand mitts. ‘Who won?’ he
asked.
‘It was a college game, local league,’ Bambitou
explained.
‘I got their autographs and team photograph,’ Thomas
loudly and enthusiastically reported, waving the large
mitts.
‘Good.’ Johno made eye contact with Bambitou.
‘Thanks for that.’
‘He’s a good kid. But he did tell me a bit about your
current problems. And, over the burgers, told me all about
the cave in the Czech Republic.’
‘Can’t believe everything you hear,’ Johno told
Bambitou, Thomas now worried about breaking a
confidence.
Johno sat and lifted a box of chicken nuggets. ‘Flying
back tomorrow,’ he told Thomas. ‘Pack, get ready, then to
bed.’

‘OK.’ Thomas went without argument.

Bambitou watched him go. ‘He’s a good kid.’

‘Yeah,’ Johno let out. ‘But don’t repeat anything he
said. Be bad for you.’

‘Never did do what I was told, Limey,’ Bambitou came

back with. ‘Anyway, these bad guys – some secret
organisation over in Euro-Disney?’ Johno glanced at

Bambitou from under his eyebrows as he ate, but said
nothing. ‘They work like the mafia here, building
contracts, right?’

Johno reluctantly nodded.

‘And I understand that your bank has more money than

God, yeah?’

Again Johno nodded.

‘Well then, dumb fuck, you don’t need to shoot some
of these fuckers, you buy shares in their dodgy business,
take control, then fire their white Euro-arses! If you’re
controlling the companies, you’re controlling the dodgy
contracts!’
Johno lifted his head, staring at ‘G-Man’. ‘Fuck,
you’ve given me an idea.’ He lowered his head, thinking.

After a moment Bambitou said, ‘You’re welcome.’

Johno wagged a finger. ‘Pieces of a puzzle.’ He loudly

called, ‘Thomas!’
Lifting his phone he said, ‘Get the Gulfstream ready,
heading straight back. Ta, love.’

‘Something I said?’ Bambitou dryly commented.

‘You may have just given me the opening move in this

game.’
He lifted his phone again as Thomas stepped back in.
‘It’s me. Listen, I want a database set-up by time I get
back – all companies in France, Germany, Italy,
Switzerland, Austria – in fact, all European countries
except the UK, if they are worth more than … er … no,
forget that. Make the database of the top one thousand
companies in Europe where the directors are European,
not British and where there is a, you know, a big private
ownership of some of the shares.
‘I want all directors cross-linked in the database, then
the addresses of the directors. Tell Otto I’d like him
working flat out on it. Ta, love.’

‘What is it?’ Thomas asked.

‘You told our good friend here some stuff –’

‘Not important stuff –’ Thomas started to protest.

Johno cut him off with, ‘It’s OK. Bambi gave me a
great idea.’

‘Bambi?’ Thomas puzzled.

Smirking, Johno nodded towards Bambitou.

As Thomas faced the FBI agent, Bambitou said, ‘My
mother used to call me that when I was a boy.’

‘Ah, Bambitou, so Bambi,’ Thomas surmised.

‘No,’ Bambitou unhappily correct. ‘Because … she
thought I looked like Bambi.’
Johno and Thomas both roared with laugher. Johno
said, ‘Thomas, pack quick, we’re leaving now.’ The boy
ran back to his room. ‘And you, kind sir, if you have
anything you … desire, pick up the phone.’
‘World peace, end to hunger, bring back afros and
disco?’ Bambitou listed as he eased up.

‘I’ll have a go at the first one this week, mate.’

Otto knocked and entered Beesely’s room, discharging the
nurse. Beesely was sat upright in bed reading reports.

‘Johno has given me a task,’ Otto stated, pulling close

a chair.
‘Oh

yes?’

‘He wants a database of the top one thousand
companies in Europe, not British, plus directors
shareholdings and their home addresses.’

Beesely puzzled it. ‘What on earth for?’

‘He did not say, but it must be to do with … what he
considers the current threat. He is heading back.’
Beesely gave a small shrug. ‘Best sort it then, maybe
use the bank, not our people here.’
‘They already have this database, up to date and in
great detail – as you can imagine.’

‘Good, good. So, how go the caves?’

‘Nothing so far, but we have now sealed the entrance-’

Beesely was immediately worried. ‘Sealed it?’

Otto smiled. ‘With an air chamber and concrete.’

‘Ah, so pump out the water?’

‘No, pump in air, push the water down and out, watch

the lake in the morning to see if bubbles come up, then
maybe to seal that end.’

‘Giving us a dry cave to walk around in. Yes, clever.’

‘Mister Grey’s idea,’ Otto informed him.

‘When will it be ready?’

‘Tomorrow.’
‘Well, that should either attract more interest in us, or
finally solve a puzzle. Strikes me that Gunter moved here
for several reasons – good defence, plus the caves.’
‘The question remains - what is in the caves?’ Otto
posed.

Beesely tipped his head and gave a resigned look.

A bit early for visitors

It was dawn when Johno and Thomas touched down back
at Zug’s private airfield, Johno ordering their drivers
dismissed, taking a Range Rover to Zurich with a second
in tow, Mavo driving. At Otto’s apartment block a guard
opened the door and welcomed them.
‘He

asleep?’

‘I believe so, sir,’ the guard cautioned.

Johno, Thomas and now Mavo took the lift up four
floors, stepping out to two guards, greetings exchanged.

Johno banged on the door. ‘Wakey, wakey!’

A minute later it was unlocked, Otto stood in a robe,
but looking wide-awake.
‘Didn’t wake you, did we?’ Johno asked, pushing
straight in.
‘No, fortunately,’ Otto informed them. ‘Marie is not
well, so we were up.’
‘Get the kettle on then.’ Johno sat on a sofa in the
spacious lounge, taking in the apartment that he had never
visited, Mavo stood by the door.
Otto reappeared a moment later. ‘So, what brings you
here?’ he said as he sat. ‘Something interesting … in
Washington? Not least, throwing pizza at the President?’
Johno laughed, Thomas kicking him. ‘Chatted to the
Lodge, induction, usual stuff. I think they only want me in
to keep an eye on me.’

Otto studied him for several seconds. ‘Yes, that makes

some sense.’

‘Got a computer here?’

‘Yes,

course.’

‘And a link to the bank?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Otto repeated.

‘And, no doubt, a photocopier.’

‘No, I use a scanner. Get with the technology, Johno.’

Johno smiled, producing several crumpled pages.
‘Copy these then, then tick them on that database and start
cross matching. But only here, and only if your computer
whatsit has the cable out, no link to the bank.’

Otto studied the pages. ‘These people –’

‘Are somehow connected between Henry from the
Lodge, the Vatican and Luchenkov,’ Johno explained.
‘That’s all you need to know for now.’

‘And the reason for this … investigation?’

‘Find out who helped Luchenkov attack us,’ Johno
stated with cold features.
‘And

then?’

‘We give them the chair.’

Otto stood and stepped into another room as Marie
appeared, nightgown tightly wrapped.

Johno stood. ‘How are you, babes?’

‘Not so good, a little fever, but nothing to worry about.

How are you?’ As she waddled she held her lower back,
easing down slowly into a comfortable sofa-chair.
‘Good. Just got back from America. Thomas saw a
basketball game.’

She smiled towards the lad. ‘Oh, good.’

Otto returned a minute later, handing back the sheets.
‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Usual.’

‘Vodka Red Bull?’ Otto dryly asked.

Johno smiled. ‘No, two teas, please.’

Otto came back in a few minutes later with two mugs
of tea, milk and many sugars for Johno, sitting in his
previous position opposite him.

‘Tell me,’ Johno began. ‘Can someone have shares in a

company and not declare them?’
‘Yes, and in many ways,’ Otto responded. ‘We hide
our ownership of many companies, going through several
others. They are known as proxy companies or holdings.’

‘And how good is K2 at identifying the hidden
owners?’
‘Very. It was something that Gunter set-up twenty
years ago - special software to search and cross match,
plus access to private files not available normally. A great
deal of K2 time went into this.’

‘Good old Gunter,’ Johno enthused.

‘Sorry?’ Otto asked with concern in his voice.

‘Good that he had the foresight,’ Johno explained,
sipping his tea. Otto stared back, a slight frown evident.
Johno put down his tea. ‘The people on that list, can you
track them without … anyone knowing?’
Otto consider the request, easing back. ‘I can search
the existing files without any outside contact, plus request
fresh updates of general information without attracting
suspicion.’

‘That may be enough. But how recent would the home

address information be?’
‘We have extensive databases of everyone in Europe,
police files –’
‘But would we be noticed, if you searched on certain
names?’

Otto reluctantly nodded. ‘It is possible.’

‘Then do the most you can before we get to that stage,

getting the final addresses a few hours before we strike.
Take those names, find out who they know, who they
work with, where they travel regular – all off old
databases, it’s better than nothing. Besides, people don’t
move that often.’

‘And when we have these lists …?’

‘Then we sit down and decide what we’re going to do
about them,’ Johno offered him.
Otto stared back for a moment before nodding his
agreement.

‘I’ll need you to make some plans, so that we can hit
those databases hard on a certain day, maximum effort
without getting seen, then the rest – getting seen.’

‘And when -’

‘Tomorrow, or the next day at the latest. Which
reminds me, can you chuck Mossad a ten million dollars,
Panama account, open another for a forty million and give
it to me to give someone – without K2 managers
knowing!’
Otto grabbed a pad and paper from a coffee table.
‘What has Mossad to do with this?’
‘They’ll help, when the time comes, people in far off
places where they can assist.’ Otto made notes. ‘Then …
then I’d like you to move what assets we can to Panama.’
Otto faced Johno squarely, a concerned look. ‘Is there
something you are not telling me?’
‘There’s lot’s I’m not telling you, save it being
intercepted before we’re ready.’
‘And when … it, is ready, we will all discuss your
plans?’

‘Like I said before, Otto, your final say on everything.’

Otto regarded his half-brother carefully for many
seconds before Johno stood.
‘Oh, nearly forgot, best piece of the puzzle. I need to
use the Bank Society, need their help, but first … need to
know if any of their members are linked to the bad guys.
So do me a favour, look at travel databases a year old, go
back five, look for any Society members flying regular to
Rome, Italy or Malta – then cross-match the dates. In fact,
why not stay here today, this is kinda important.’
‘Very well,’ Otto agreed, a glance at Marie. ‘I will be
interested, also, to see what names come up.’

* * *

‘Hey, old fucker.’

‘Johno, back with us already. How was Washington?
And… the President?’
Johno grinned. ‘Cold, should have gone to frigging
Malta.’ He closed in on Beesely’s bed. ‘What’s up with
you?’

‘Bleeding flu or something,’ Beesely grumbled. ‘Bit of

a fever.’

‘It related to –’

‘No, just a bug. Old, you see. You’ll find out some
day!’

Johno tipped his head forwards. ‘Wanna bet!’

Beesely stopped smiling. ‘How was Olly?’

‘Fine.’ Johno absently took in the room.

Beesely waited. ‘That it?’

‘Walls have ears.’

‘Hmmm. Well then, everything … on track?’

‘Going well. Had a good idea or two, another good
idea or two given to me. Oh, Otto doing the homework I
gave him from his apartment today.’

‘Homework?’ Beesely puzzled.

‘Bit of research into some companies I think we should

buy into.’

‘Really? Good … opportunities, are they?’

‘Should think so.’ Johno smirked. ‘But you know the
one good thing about having a majority share in a
business?’
Beesely grinned. ‘You can set direction, and cancel
projects.’
‘And … fire people,’ Johno added with an enigmatic
smile.

‘People … whom you don’t like?’

‘People … who have friends, we most definitely don’t

like.’

Beesely nodded enthusiastically. ‘War with money!’

Johno stepped to the door and turned. ‘I learnt that
trick from someone … can’t remember who, some sneaky
bastard.’

In thick rubber suits Mr Grey and his dive buddy stepped
down awkwardly through the steel air-lock hatch, their
aluminium air-tanks passed down one at a time, four in
total, plus two small yellow reserves: ‘Ponies’. Positioned
five metres above the cave’s water-level, they closed the
heavy metal hatch and spun the latch wheel.
Grey pressed the button on an improvised intercom.
‘OK. Go ahead.’
A blast of compressed of air hissed from a nozzle.
Holding their noses, the two men intermittently cleared
their ears.
A minute later, when the gushing eased, Grey hit the
intercom button. ‘OK, stop.’
He checked his pressure gauge. It registered twenty
bar, the equivalent of ten metres water depth, but the
pressure was falling very slowly as anticipated. Shining
their torches down awkwardly between their legs and feet
they could now see the water level dropping.
Grey hit the intercom. ‘Water level falling. Anything
on the lake?’

‘No, nothing,’ crackled back.

In the dungeon Thomas sniffed, long and hard. ‘Pooh!’

Grey hit the intercom. ‘OK, another ten bars.’

Another hiss of gushing air drowned out any chance of

normal conversation, the men now seeing that the water
was low enough to glimpse the top of the horizontal cave
section below.

‘Come on,’ Grey encouraged. ‘Let’s get kitted.’

The two of them clambered awkwardly down the first
set of steps, scuba tanks over a shoulder, masks around
their necks. Without fins on their feet they placed their
tanks on fully and turned their air on, tested the regulators
with sharp, loud bursts of compressed air, before stepping
down into the cold, murky water, up to their waist now.

‘Do we wait?’ the second man asked.

‘We already know the layout,’ Grey encouraged,
checking the tops of the tunnel walls with his torch and
banging with the end of a large knife. As they progressed
they stepped cautiously over rocks on the cave floor,
hidden under the murky water, a shower of drips raining
down from the cave ceiling.
Grey illuminated the ceiling ahead. ‘It bends to the
right a little. Didn’t notice that before.’
They progressed slowly, testing the floor with their
booted feet and feeling their way. Fifty metres in and they
could see the rock fall ahead.
‘What’s that?’ the second man said, pointing to the
ceiling.
Grey illuminated a hole with his torch then tested the
floor with his foot. ‘Remember that small pile of rocks?’

‘Yes. They came out this hole?’

‘Probably years after the divers bought it. I’d have
noticed it.’

They inched closer.

‘That’s a passage!’ Grey suggested, his words now
echoing. ‘Stand back.’

He eased back, hitting the rocks at the edge of the hole

with his knife. They fell with a loud ‘plop’. Jabbing up he
loosened more rocks, soon a hole big enough to climb
into. ‘Goes up at least five metres, at an angle, then levels
off. Top of that far ceiling looks dry.’

‘Ladders?’ the second man suggested.

Grey nodded, turning immediately. They trudged back,

the going quicker now, just twelve inches of water. At the

shaft base they loosened the ladder they had climbed
down, easing it around the bend, just about forcing it
through. Carrying the light aluminium ladder they made
quick progress, the shower of drips now almost deafening
and making all conversation a shout.
With the ladder forced up into the new passage they
had a method of access to the tunnel’s offshoot. Grey
dropped his tanks, telling the second diver to keep his on
for now – just in case, before clambering quickly up the
steps.
At the first bend in the passage, little wider than he
could manoeuvre in, the passage levelled off, growing in
height. On elbows and knees, cradling his torch, he
crawled forwards until he could stand up. A skeleton
greeted him, hung in a rusted gage from a wall; executed,
being left as a reminder to others.

‘How you doing,’ Grey whispered.

Scanning with his torch he noticed ancient brick walls
either side of the narrow passageway, several bricks
missing. A rat ran forwards, sniffing towards him before
turning tail and scurrying away.

‘Suit yourself,’ he muttered towards the fleeing rodent.

A few steps further in he stopped and shone his torch
through a hole left by a missing brick, revealing another
passage – and another skeleton in a cage.

‘Harrison Ford … eat your heart out!’

‘OK?’ echoed up the passage.

‘Yeah!’

‘Anything?’
‘No!’

Thomas walked out of the snug and glanced around the
dungeon. ‘Hello?’

Brick by brick, Mr Grey easily made a hole in the old
wall, finally just kicking the lower bricks in. Kneeling as

best he could in his dry-suit he peered in with his torch.
The draped Nazi flag came as a surprise.

Grey shouted down the passage, ‘I’m going around the
bend, be ten minutes.’

‘OK,’ wafted back up.

Grey headed on, smiling to himself. Bent double his
suit let out a loud rasp of air as he put a leg through the
enlarged hole and stood up. ‘Excuse me.’
He found numerous flags draped along the left wall,
reminiscent of the throne room that Johno and Thomas
had found. Against the right wall rested numerous old
wooden boxes, all sodden and rotten, stretching away from
another skeleton hung in a cage. Knowing Gunter’s
fondness for booby-traps he stepped slowly on, scanning
the floor and the ceiling.

The boxes contained little of interest, mostly damp old

clothes, plus some rusted old machine pistols as with the
throne room, leading him along to a strong metal door.
The edges of the door revealed no wires or traps, but also
offered no handles; no purchase from which to pull or
push it. He tried a gentle push, but it was firmly shut –
locked from the other side.
Retracing his steps he shone his torch at the walls,
looking for another door, but found nothing. Ducking back
through the hole he loosened more bricks and then
straightened up. ‘What’s behind door number two?’ he
muttered. ‘Hopefully, not the consolation prize.’
With a single brick missing he reached in and started
to remove other bricks, easily pulling them from the wall.
When a moderate sized hole presented itself he shone his
torch through.

‘Well, that’s more like it.’

* * *

Thomas walked out of the snug, sniffing and listening.
‘Hello?’ he asked again, now angered. He surveyed the
room, checked the sauna area then returned to the snug.
A scratching sound came from somewhere, followed
by an odd banging. He listened intently; it was coming
from Johno’s room. Stepping in he turned the lights up
fully and waited.
He could hear more metallic banging sounds; they
were coming from under Johno’s bed. Jumping down he
lifted the blankets and listened. Yes, it was definitely
coming from the floor under the bed. He dragged the bed
clear with a loud scraping sound. And waited.
A section of floor gave way just as Johno stepped in.
He drew level with the boy, a heavy frown at the moved
bed. They stared at the hole in the floor as the dreadful
smell hit.
Mr Grey stuck his head through, barely recognisable
due to the dirt on his face. ‘Hey.’

‘What’s wrong with the fucking lift!’ Johno shouted.

Grey smiled. ‘Lift me up.’

Thomas ran forwards and started dragging Grey up, a
hand from Johno.

‘Don’t you ever make your bed?’ Grey asked.

‘No,’ Thomas and Johno said at the same time, still
focused on the hole.
‘Where does that go?’ Johno asked, pointing at the
hole and peering down into it.
‘Under here are three big rooms, small passage onto
the flooded cave. They’re just like the throne room.’

‘Like the throne room?’ Johno puzzled. ‘You mean –‘

‘Yeah, Gunter was there.’

‘Any treasure?’ Thomas excitedly asked.

‘Lots of it,’ Grey responded.

‘Any

…

naughty items down there?’ Johno knowingly

enquired.

Grey offered a reluctant nod.

Johno pointed at the hole. ‘Then get your arse back
down the way you came, flood that cave and tell them you
found fuck all. Quickly, we’ll cover this.’

‘What about the treasure?’ Grey complained.

‘It ain’t going no where,’ Johno growled. ‘Now
fucking move it!’
Grumbling to himself, Grey reluctantly eased himself
back into the hole, Johno and Thomas kicking the debris
in with their feet, Grey’s shouts of complaint distorted and
echoing. A minute later the dartboard’s wooden backstop
covered the hole, some clothes on top, finally the bed.
‘Get the extractors on,’ Johno told Thomas. ‘Then
spray.’
‘God,

what

is that smell?’ Helen asked, appearing in

the doorway.

‘Drains backed up a bit,’ Johno informed her, a kiss on

the cheek as Thomas trotted out.
‘I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me,’ she
toyed.
Johno gestured her out of the snug and to the sofa.
‘Got to be cagey at the moment, still some junior
managers wired into the Vatican.’
‘Yes, we heard. Otto’s men noticed quite a reception
committee at Rome and Malta airports.’
Johno gave a big shrug. ‘See. Might even be bugged
here. Not leaving you out, just need to be careful.’ They
sat.

‘Careful … working on what?’

‘I tracked back some of the kit used to attack us.
Seems that Luchenkov had some mafia help around
Europe.’

Helen seemed concerned. ‘We’ll go after them?’

‘Of course,’ he insisted. ‘They knew what they were
doing. Probably knew who we are as well.’

‘And you can’t say what the plan is?’

‘When the time comes you’ll be right there in the thick

of the teas and coffees, adding your brain power.’

‘You didn’t call from the States,’ she softly mentioned.

‘K2 phones can’t be trusted.’

‘Oh,’ she let out. ‘Thomas called on his mobile, see
how I was. Several times.’
Johno laughed loudly. ‘If I thought for a second that
you missed me … I’d be a very happy man.’

That did not please her. ‘Meaning?’

‘Oh … nothing.’
‘Meaning?’ she pressed, a degree louder.

Johno shrugged. ‘Well, it’s just that … I think you like

what I did to help you, you and your self-respect, more
than you like me … as a person.’

She took a long moment to respond. ‘And that bothers

you?’
‘Not in the least. Whatever reason … you stay at my
side, I am happy with, no matter what it is. Happy, and
grateful.’

That caught her off-guard. ‘Oh.’

He stood. ‘Let’s get some grub, and out of this smell.’

Mr Grey and his dive buddy opened the upper hatch
without the need to decompress from their time in the
pressurised air; it was well within guidelines. With the
hole made into the dungeon floor the water had not
returned, Grey right about the rainwater; wherever it had
pumped to, it was staying there, no bubbles observed at
the lake.
He had, however, opened up a hole in the cave-in,
letting in some water, now four foot deep in the cave.
‘Anything?’ was asked as he emerged, Diaz stood
close.

‘Yeah,’ Grey enthused. ‘Got the water out - just a few

feet deep now. Second passage, dry at the top, goes back
quite a way, caved in at the end.’ He straightened up with
help, Diaz closing in.
‘Anything

…

interesting in the new passage?’ Diaz

pointedly enquired.
‘Not so far, but lots to explore now the water’s out.’
Grey turned, facing the second man. ‘That cave doesn’t
look safe.’ The man nodded. ‘What do think, curved
ceiling supports?’ Again the man nodded. ‘How many?’

‘At least fifty!’

Grey faced a senior guard. ‘Get a hundred curved bits
of wood –’ He extended his arms. ‘- this diameter. Then
wood for the supports, maybe some metal supports as
well. No one goes further till be secure that first section,
could collapse at any time.’

‘And how long,’ Diaz began, ‘will that take?’

‘Couple of days, maybe,’ Grey responded. He added,
with stern features, ‘I’m not burying anyone in there!’

‘Of course,’ Diaz agreed, turning and walking off.

* * *

Blaum met Otto in a Zurich supermarket, their trolleys
alongside each other’s.
‘Johno has given me a task,’ Otto quietly stated,
innocuously scanning the shelves.
‘Oh?’

‘Cross matching names, travel, share ownership.’

‘And?’

‘It will lead directly to the Basel Group.’

‘As

expected.’

‘He is being very secretive, and yet insists that any
final say on action will be my personal responsibility.’

Blaum glanced across before grabbing detergent. ‘You

brought them into K2, so that would be a normal
courtesy.’ He shrugged, making a face.

‘It would seem so, but I am suspicious.’

‘He is heading towards a showdown with Basel, which

is fine,’ Blaum insisted.
‘We must tread very carefully. Any mistakes now and
we lose everything,’ Otto cautioned.

‘From what you have said, Johno is giving no one any

clues, not even you. So there is no chance of a leak from
within K2.’

‘That is the one good thing,’ Otto stated.

Making use of what you’ve got

Johno called to Claus from the command centre
companionway then entered Helen’s office, slumping in
his old seat.
She faced him, looking up from her file. ‘Need me …
Boss man?’

‘No, not really,’ he responded. ‘Just your undying love

and devotion.’

She cocked an eyebrow.

Claus entered. ‘Sir?’

‘Can I have … a list of Italian, or European,
construction companies, the top twenty in Europe, not the
UK, and their majority share ownerships.’

‘Moment.’ Claus stepped out.

‘Something?’ Helen asked, taking off her glasses and
easing back.

‘Vatican is supposed to launder money for the Italian

mafia, and they like their dodgy construction companies.’
She seemed concerned. ‘You’re going after the
Vatican?’ she delicately broached.
‘Let’s just say, taking some of their toys off them,’ he
enigmatically replied.
Claus returned five minutes later with several folders
and fresh computer printouts. ‘This is an area that we are
experts in. In fact, we sell this information to our
customers,’ he proudly stated.

‘Good,’ Johno enthused.

Claus stood rigid. ‘Is there some area I can help you
with?’

Johno waved Claus to a chair, lifting the first printout,

the top twenty companies. He picked number six, an
Italian company. In the folder he found the share
ownerships, otherwise hidden – but not to K2. As Claus

had stated, and Johno had recently become aware of, K2
specialised in searching for this kind of information.
He ran a finger down the list of shareowners. Many
were companies linked back to private individuals or other
investment companies. His finger stopped at the third
largest slice of share ownership; a Saudi investment group.
‘Hmmm.’

Helen and Claus exchanged glances.

Next he noticed a large number of shares owned by a
Russian oil company. ‘Oh. Hmmm.’
Helen and Claus suppressed smiles and quizzical
looks.
Another investment company, linked to a well know
American Jewish family. ‘Ahhh.’ He lifted his face to
Claus. ‘I remember what Beesely did with the drug
companies, how we got control. This company, Encosol.
How many shares would we need to control it?’
Claus stood and closed in, looking at the page that
Johno held up for him. ‘The largest block there … is …
six percent. We would need seven percent at least, but
there are several large blocks, so if they grouped together
against us they could elect a new board, under their
control.’

‘So how much would be needed … to be sure?’ Johno

asked.

‘Perhaps … fifteen percent at least.’

Johno studied the share blocks with a finger under the
amounts, mumbling as he added several. ‘OK, I think I
can persuade twelve percent to give their voting rights to
us. Which leaves –’

‘Just three percent,’ Claus finished off.

‘Call it ten percent to be sure. How much would that
cost us?’
Claus scanned the share capitalisation and the current
value. ‘Around … one hundred million, sir. Pounds!’

‘OK, very quietly, and discretely, start buying as much

as we can. Put some rumours out, lower the stock like
before, be a sneaky shit.’
Claus straightened. ‘May I enquire as to the purpose,
sir?’

‘No,’ Johno carefully mouthed.

‘How long to –’

‘Within two days,’ Johno firmly stated. ‘Go to it.’

Claus stepped out, Helen now staring.

‘Are you going to share this with your … Head of
Intelligence?’
‘If we control this company, we control the dodgy
contracts … and the money laundering. Vatican will have
to be nice to us.’
‘Just a guess here, Johno, but if he board of this
company are mafia, or organised crime, then seeing us
sitting on the board may … agitate them somewhat.’
Johno smiled widely. ‘Ah,’ she slowly let out. ‘You want
to agitate them. Shake the tree and see who falls out.’
‘Shake the tree, and see who gets a broken neck!’ He
raised his phone. ‘Elle Rosen, Mossad.’
They

waited.

‘Johno, how … are you?’ Elle cautiously offered.

‘Good, mate. Listen, need a favour. Another one!
There’s an Italian construction company called Encosol.
Your buddies in the States - one’s we gave the pictures
back to - their investment company has a big stake in it. I
want their voting rights stuff … for a month or so.’
‘What

for?’

‘Some of the people on the board need to meet me.’

‘A strange way of getting an introduction, Johno.’

‘Trust me, get it, need it tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow!’

‘Yep. Call me back.’ He hung up.

Facing Helen he said, ‘Be a love, hit the phone and
organise the Saudi Ambassador for a quick visit.’

‘Saudi?’

‘Oh, and the Russian Ambassador.’

‘Russian as well?’

Johno nodded as he stood. ‘Quick as you can, love.
Ta.’ He stepped out, meeting Mr Grey in the courtyard.
Whispering he said, ‘Anything in the basement that would
interest the Arab world?’

‘Could be,’ Grey said with a shrug.

Johno put his face close. ‘Pop down, find some. One
hour.’
Grumbling to himself, Grey headed to the dungeon,
Johno ordering Mavo to go with him.

* * *

Otto answered his phone to Minister Blaum. ‘Saudi
Ambassador? Russian? No, I have no idea, I am working
from home today. The only other thing to happen today is
this company Encosol, he was enquiring about share
ownership. Ah … I have an idea. He wants to take control
of it. Why? Guess who’s on the board. Yes, should be
interesting. Very interesting.’

The Russian Ambassador arrived first, landing in a
helicopter with Max Blaum in tow.
Johno met them on the grass, directing them to the
park in front of the castle. ‘I know it’s not great weather
for a stroll, but I want to speak to you … outdoors. That
way, no bugs.’
‘You are being bugged?’ the Ambassador queried,
scanning the dozens of armed guards, Blaum close by.

‘Long story. Listen, I believe I know where the Amber

Panels are.’

The Ambassador was shocked, stopping dead. ‘Why
bring this to my attention?’

‘They’re yours. You want them back?’

The Ambassador’s eye narrowed. ‘Of course, but at
what … price?’
‘No price. If I can get them, it won’t cost you
anything.’

The Ambassador was puzzled, Blaum just as surprised.

‘I don’t understand,’ the Ambassador said. ‘You will…

get them, then give them to us?’
‘They’re being held by an Italian mafia group. We’ll
steal the panels, hand them to you.’

‘We can have no part of such an action!’

‘Don’t worry, no one will know,’ Johno insisted.
‘We’re very good, we don’t get caught.’
The Ambassador shot Blaum and unhappy look. ‘You
did not ask me here just to hand them over.’
‘True,’ Johno admitted. ‘Here’s the deal. There are
several large corporations in Europe we are interested in
getting majority voting rights in. And around five percent
of the shares are held by Russian investment companies.’
The Ambassador offered a confused look. ‘You want
the voting rights. That is all?’
‘And just for a month or so at that - your companies
won’t lose anything. And, you get the Panels, complete
and in good condition.’
‘How do you know they are … complete and in good
condition?’ the Ambassador pressed.
‘I saw them … at … the mafia stronghold. They
offered to sell them to us,’ Johno lied, Blaum frowning
strongly in the background, unseen by the Ambassador.
‘Well, is it a deal?’

‘I must discuss this –’

‘You have a day,’ Johno forcefully stated. ‘If no deal,
then when we … visit this mafia group the panels will be
smashed during our attack.’

The Ambassador did not look like he appreciated the
threat. ‘I will call tomorrow.’ He turned and headed back
to the helicopter.

Blaum remained. ‘You have the panels,’ he whispered.

‘He don’t know that. And I need his help with those

voting rights.’
Blaum reluctantly nodded before he turned and
followed the Ambassador.

* * *

Three black stretch-limousines laboured up the compound
road to the curious gaze of guards and other onlookers.
There was clearly not enough room for them to park and
turn in the courtyard, and so they were halted outside, Mr
Freiserling organising his staff quickly.
In the dungeon snug Johno and Thomas stood waiting
above the noxious hole, Bilbo and his team stood guard
with Mavo near the dungeon stairs. A golden object
appeared, followed by an arm and then Grey’s head.

‘That it?’ Johno curtly asked.

‘I need more time,’ Grey breathed out. ‘It’s large, dark,

and everything is boxed up and dirty.’
Johno grabbed the piece, a golden orb with a crescent
moon at the top. The writing down one side certainly
looked Arabic, not Hebrew. He turned his head towards
the door. ‘Mavo, Bilbo!’

The man came running.

‘Ditch your weapons, get some torches and get the
fuck down their and help Grey. He’ll explain on the way-’
He wagged a finger. ‘- and not a fucking word of this to
anyone who ain’t ex-SAS!’
He stepped out, throwing a towel over the artefact as
the Saudi delegation made its way to the restaurant.
Knocking on Casper’s door he was relieved to find the

Israeli in his room and not the restaurant. Pushing his way
quickly in he closed the door. ‘You alone?’
‘Yes,

course.’

Johno unwrapped the item, a sharp intake of breath
from Casper. ‘I need a quick assessment of this. Is it real?’
Casper reverently cradled the piece, reading the
inscription. He smiled and nodded. ‘This very same
passage is detailed in at least two places in Jerusalem,
carved onto stone. And not many people know where they
are.’

‘Could it be a fake?’ Johno pressed.

‘I do not think so. It is definitely gold, the right colour

and surface texture, the right height, age.’
‘Fine.’ Johno grabbed it, stepped into the bathroom
and irreverently ran it under the hot water tap, cleaning it
with the towel.
‘I hear we have visitors?’ Casper pointedly enquired,
hands now clasped behind him as Johno emerged from the
bathroom.
‘Saudis,’ Johno explained as he dried the artefact. ‘I
need their help … this’ll tempt them.’ He headed towards
the door, Casper sidestepping and blocking his path.

Johno stopped and stared.

‘I believe, Johno, that my … colleagues, will be
rendering great assistant to you shortly.’

‘What’s on your mind?’

‘The treasure, of course.’

Johno stepped closer, to a threatening distance. ‘Well,
let me tell you what’s on my mind,’ he said in a strong
whisper, Casper taking a half-step backwards. ‘Body bags.
Lots and lots … of body bags. Dozens, hundreds,
thousands, maybe more. Fifty dead here, a thousand dead
in Portsmouth. Not to mention those who are about to
die… if my next little project goes tits up.’

Casper frowned his lack of understanding.

Johno held up the golden artefact. ‘How many lives is
this worth? A hundred? Ten? One?’ He waited. ‘How
many lives would you sacrifice to get hold of this, or
something like it, Hebrew writing down the side? Ten,
twenty…? Well I’ll tell you how many I am prepared to
sacrifice. None!’ He stepped around Casper.
‘Johno,’ Casper quietly called without making eye
contact, his head lowered. ‘You cannot present that to the
Saudis.’

‘Why?’ Johno demanded through teeth clenched.

Casper turned. ‘For one, that is an important religious
icon. Handing it over wrapped in a … ‘Simpsons’ towel
may be seen as a cultural insult.’
Johno glanced at the towel he was holding, a quick,
embarrassed glance at Casper from under his eyebrows
before dropping the towel onto the floor.
In the restaurant the Saudis were mostly stood, their
Ambassador sat in traditional robes, several of his staff
also robed, the remainder in western suits. Fortunately,
there was no sign of Cardinal Diaz. Johno stepped in, the
reaction from Claus indicating to the visitors that Johno
was the boss.
Johno simply walked over, placed down the artefact –
resting it on its base – then stepped to the counter and
ordered a tea, waiting for it. The Saudis closed in on the
artefact, the Ambassador reading the inscription. Johno
finally turned, Simpson’s mug in hand and sat opposite the
Ambassador. He said nothing, simply sipped his tea.
The Ambassador gestured the artefact towards Johno.
‘This, is genuine?’ he asked in a perfect, and eloquent,
English accent.

‘We think so. Take it home with you, find out.’

‘An … interesting gift, from an Englishman, in a Swiss

castle that belongs to a Swiss bank with … quite a
reputation.’

Claus leant closer. ‘Excellency, may I present Herr
Johno, owner of the bank.’
The Ambassador took a moment to study Johno. ‘I
have heard … many rumours, about many things –’
‘If you have any questions, fire away,’ Johno cut in
with.

Again, the Ambassador took a moment to study Johno.

‘This … gift –’
‘Is the price for a private, five minute conversation,’
Johno curtly stated.
The Ambassador smiled. ‘I had not realised my …
hourly charge rate was quite so high.’ He waved away his
staff, Claus following them out. That just left Johno facing
the Ambassador.
‘There is … rumour,’ the Ambassador began, ‘of
Templar treasure.’
‘Here’s the deal. You get any artefacts that are Arabic
from the treasure. In return, this bank gets your block
voting rights in a number of European companies we’re
trying to take over.’
The Ambassador eased back. ‘Your bank has always
been an excellent investment, so I am sure that the
investment bankers of my country would not object to
such a move. After all, they will not be losing anything.’
‘You’ll need to move quickly on this, getting some
voting rights for me tomorrow.’
‘Please detail them and send them to me immediately.
But may I ask, what you will do … should you find …
certain disputed artefacts?’
‘Make sure they never see the light of day,’ Johno
came quickly back with before sipping his tea.
The Ambassador was mildly surprised, straightening,
but then smiling. ‘We would, of course, offer a great deal
for them.’
‘And could that money be used to bring back the men
I’ve lost in recent weeks?’ Johno posed.

The Ambassador stopped smiling. ‘There would seem
to be more going on here that I am aware of. Perhaps …
some day … you will explain it to me.’ He stood. ‘If you
get the voting rights, when …’

‘Within a few days.’

‘That quick? Either you already have the treasure, or
you know exactly where it is.’

Johno stood. ‘Detail, Mister Ambassador. Detail.’

The Ambassador walked around the table. Whispering,

he said, ‘I liked the joke you played on the Swiss, about
the American President. Very stiff, these Swiss.’ He
grinned. ‘I went to Eton and Cambridge, myself. Love
Monty Python!’
As he stepped out Johno stood staring after him,
eyebrows raised.

* * *

In the courtyard Claus called Otto. ‘They have found the
Templar treasure,’ he whispered. ‘But said nothing to us.
Johno has given a piece to the Saudis.’

‘Why?’ Otto queried.

‘I don’t know, he spoke to their Ambassador alone.’

‘It could be to secure more voting rights. Keep me
informed.’

Mavo eased down into the dark, guided by Mr Grey -
unseen below. Thomas handed him two powerful torches,
Bilbo easing down and putting his legs into the hole,
Thomas strongly warned not to follow.
Shining the torch around the first large enclosure,
Mavo got his bearings. ‘This some kinda treasure room?
Like the other one?’

‘Not … quite like the other one,’ Grey informed him, a

slight grin evident.
‘What?’ Mavo asked when he noticed Grey’s
expression, his torch now illuminating Grey’s stomach.
Bilbo dropped down and stumbled, rolling over a
righting himself. ‘Jesus!’ he let out, a skeleton in a cage
the first thing his torch lit. ‘What the fuck is this place?
Some sort of ancient torture chamber?’

‘Nope,’ Grey informed them. ‘This is where the Nazis

stuffed the Templar treasure.’
‘Templar treasure?’ Mavo repeated in a strong
whisper.
Grey led them to a line of large trunks, thick wood
with iron studs. Lifting a heavy lid he revealed a chest of
gold coins.

‘Jesus…’ Bilbo let out. ‘How much is that lot worth?’

‘Given what it is, forgetting the base gold value …
couple a billion I reckon.’

‘Couple a fucking billion!’ Bilbo gasped. ‘Jesus!’

‘There’s got to be fifty trunks like this,’ Grey informed

them, leading them to the next room. ‘And that doesn’t
include the artefacts.’

They ducked under a low doorframe, the thick wooden

door propped open. The stench increased, they could
almost taste it, the air thick and stale, the dirt on the floor
moist – soft underfoot as the walked. The next room held
dozens of similarly sized trunks running down one side,
Nazi memorabilia down the opposite side, keenly
investigated; flags hanging off poles, glass cases similar to
the throne room, weapons displayed on the wall – all very
old and dirty.

‘The odd thing is,’ Grey began. ‘Nothing down here

looks like it’s been disturbed since the war.’

‘What?’ Mavo questioned. ‘That old guy, Gunter, he

didn’t know it was here?’

‘I’d bet he did, that’s the odd bit. So why just leave it

here rotting away?’

‘Maybe he didn’t find it,’ Bilbo suggested.
Grey stopped and faced them. ‘It’s possible. There

were the two dead divers, and the secret passage getting
here looked like it collapsed after the divers died. So it’s
possible. But anyone going around the dungeon with a
pickaxe and some determination would have found that
access point.’ He stopped dead, noticed by the two British.
‘On me, boys,’ he said in a mock English accent.

They retraced their steps, ducking again into the first

room and to the light in the ceiling coming from the snug.
Under the hole Grey examined the debris with his torch.

Grey said, ‘See that big lump of rock, it fell out of the

roof, rolled that way, and the rest of this.’

‘So it was solid enough up there,’ Bilbo surmised.

‘Gunter missed it.’

Grey looked up. ‘There’s a door at the far end, solid,

locked from the other side. I’ve been trying to figure
where it comes out. I reckon it would be somewhere near
the drawbridge, courtyard at least. Come on, let’s check
the treasure for Johno before he gets all grumpy.’

‘Do you have to do what he says?’ Bilbo asked.

‘Aren’t you American Army?’

‘Long story, but yeah, I have to do what he says.’
They proceeded back to the second room, past the

flags and glass cases.

‘Hang on,’ Mavo called. They stopped. He illuminated

the dusty glass cases with their torches. ‘If no one came
here after the war, who the fuck would make a museum –
from stuff that wasn’t old back then?’

‘Shit, yeah,’ Grey agreed, closing in on the cases.

‘Whoever made this display did so from nostalgia, from
the war. That dates it later.’

‘So it must have been Gunter,’ Mavo suggested.

‘Before Gunter … the castle was empty,’ Grey

informed them. ‘Odd bit is, he didn’t visit this lot for
decades, maybe forty years by the look of it.’

‘From what Johno said,’ Mavo began, ‘Gunter didn’t

visit the other stuff, for like … twenty years.’

‘It’s odd,’ Grey greed. ‘Why have it here, just tucked

away?’

He turned and headed to the next room, ducking again

under a low archway, the thick door wedged back. This
new room housed many large boxes, oddly shaped and
reminiscent to the explorers of stand-up wardrobes.

Grey faced Bilbo and Mavo. ‘OK, guys, if you open

something in here and you hear a ping sound, close it.’

‘Booby traps?’ Bilbo asked, now concerned.
‘Haven’t seen any yet, but you never know.’
Spreading out, they began opening trunks, shining their

torches at gold icons, golden boxes, coins, silver coins,
carved wooden objects plated in silver and gold, now split
by the decaying cedar wood it adorned. Thirty minutes
later they had placed into the middle of the room five
items that appeared Arabic in origins.

‘That should do it,’ Grey suggested. ‘Rest will take

ages to check, need some decent lights in here. Leave that
lot there, we know where it is. Let’s try and find the main
access point.’

He led them to the next room, past more trunks, some

more flags, the skeleton in a suspended cage and the
original hole in the brick wall that he first eased through.
Opposite the dismantled brick wall stood the heavy iron
door.

‘That makes sense,’ Grey muttered, examining the

door.

‘What does?’ Bilbo asked, closing in.
‘This door, hundred years old.’
‘Eighteenth century?’ Mavo asked.

‘Or earlier. But they didn’t have the treasure back then,

these trunks and boxes are nineteen thirties. They came in
… later.’

‘Just a dungeon before, poor old Percy and his mate for

company,’ Bilbo noted, scanning the area with his torch.

‘These hinge pins are rusted, and split,’ Grey pointed

out, tapping them with a finger. ‘Old iron will shatter. He
turned. ‘Got your pistols?’

They had, both taken out. They backed up till they

were ten feet away, almost flat against the wall. Bilbo
fired first, and at an angle, so that any ricochet would
bounce into the room. Three carefully aimed shots and the
top hinge shattered, sharp echoes short lived as they
bounced around the walls of the confined space. Two
shots and the middle hinge shattered. Kneeling now, the
bottom hinge went after four shots. Bilbo stood, the two
troopers closing in. Grey grabbed an old rifle, smashing
down on the remaining stubborn fragments of rusted iron
hinge.

‘The door’s rusted in place,’ Grey suggested. ‘Need

some purchase.’ He turned his head, Bilbo stood over his
right shoulder. ‘Grab a sword, there’s a good chap.’

Bilbo returned with an old and rusted curved sword,

Grey directing him to scrape down the narrow slither of a
gap where the door joined the wall, rust starting to fall.
Biblo run the sword awkwardly along the top and bottom
of the door, working up a sweat. Finally he stood, taking a
deep breath of stale air.

Grey examined the hinged side of the door carefully.

Taking the sword from Bilbo he jammed it into the groove
behind a jagged piece of remaining hinge, applying
pressure by lifting the sword, plenty of leverage applied.
The top right corner of the door moved a half-inch, an
encouraging start. He repeated the exercise with the
middle hinge, a few more millimetres gained, finally
reversing the sword and now angling it down as he tried

the bottom hinge, coaxing the door out a few more
millimetres.

Relieving ‘Percy’ of his cage they broke off the chain

and hook, working the hook into the top right corner and
getting some purchase. With all three of them gently
increasing the pressure the door creaked and resisted for a
minute before opening a few inches. Penetratingthe gloom
with their torches inside did not reveal anything, certainly
no visible wires. With three sets of hands on the door,
boots against the wall, they strained to force it open.

With a loud crack something snapped, the door flung

open, the three of them ending up in a pile on the floor,
scrambling to get up and laughing. The door now hung at
an angle, plenty of space to climb through, the explorers
keenly scrambling inside. In the new room they
expectantly shone they torches around, finding simply a
long bare corridor, the walls looking very old and
unevenly chiselled.

Grey told Mavo to wait back inside the last chamber,

‘just in case’, and he and Bilbo cautiously walked
forwards, checking the floor and ceiling for booby-traps.
Ten yards in and they found a brick wall, oddly placed and
obviously made to cover a door. Grey pulled a brick out,
revealing another rusted iron door. ‘This is odd,’ he
muttered.

‘What?’ Bilbo asked.
Grey turned. ‘That door was bolted from this side. So

was this one by the look of it.’

‘So?’
‘So who the fuck bricked this up? They would have

been stuck inside.’

‘They bricked it up and then they closed the next

door.’

‘Why? Anyone opening the metal door would see the

bricks and kick them in. This place is starting to remind
me of the complex in the Czech Republic.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Bilbo encouraged. ‘I have nightmares

about that place … and I wasn’t even there!’

Grey grinned. ‘Double back.’ They turned. ‘Mavo,’ he

called. ‘Can I have that sword?’

Ten minutes of jabbing at the walls and another brick

wall was revealed from behind a layer of dirt. Knocking it
down they found one group of bricks attached to a metal
grill, perhaps ten bricks in total.

‘They made this wall, then last man climbed through

and they pulled the plug in,’ Grey explained. ‘Clever
puppies.’

The new passage led up a wide stone staircase, finally

to another brick wall. Putting an ear to it Grey was certain
he could hear cars in the courtyard, so doubled back down.

‘Why not break through?’ Bilbo asked after Grey

explained the exit.

‘Johno doesn’t want anyone to know yet,’ was Grey’s

answer, so they tackled the metal door.

The bricks came away easily, soon revealing a door the

same size and dimensions as the last – only this one had a
large handle.

‘That staircase is the access point,’ Grey insisted.

‘We’re under the courtyard.’

‘So what’s in here?’ Mavo asked.
‘Well, back there is the Templar treasure, upstairs was

half the crown jewels of Europe and the Nazi treasures, so
in here … something more valuable.’

Mavo and Bilbo glanced at each other.
‘Stand back,’ Grey encouraged, turning the handle

with a squeak.

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’ a voice raged.

100

“Buried next to the treasure...”

Grey, Mavo and Bilbo spun around. Shinning their torches
they illuminated Johno, grinning, Thomas at his side.

‘Fuck!’ Bilbo let out, sighs from Mavo.

Johno and Thomas turned on bright lamps, throwing
strong light around the room, the black walls reflecting
very little of the new light.

‘We found some Arabic stuff,’ Grey reported, taking a

step forwards. ‘Stop you from whinging.’
Johno stepped forwards. ‘Yeah, saw it. Leave it there
for now.’ He hit the metal door with the side of his fist.
‘So, what do you reckon’s behind this door then?’
‘Something

valuable,’

Bilbo stated. ‘And I want a

fucking pay rise.’
‘If we survive the next week, you’ll get one. Beside,
what’s in there is very valuable.’

‘How do you know?’ Grey queried.

‘Let’s just say a little birdie told me.’ He pushed the
door lever down and pushed it open, holding out his lamp
and stepping in.

What they found were a dozen filing cabinets and four

desks in a surprisingly neat and clean room, the walls
perfectly smooth concrete.

‘It’s just filing stuff,’ Mavo grumbled.

Johno yanked opened a rusted cabinet and took out the

first file, a thick buff folder. Opening it on the table he
called Thomas closer. ‘This may be in old German. See
what it says.’

Thomas read aloud, in English, the translated the faded

details.

‘As I thought, very valuable,’ Johno stated after a deep

sigh.

101

‘What is it?’ Grey asked. ‘Company information …
dating to the forties and fifties?’
‘Yep. What this is all about. K2, Gunter, the fucks
trying to kill us … and the next battle.’

He took in their expectant faces. ‘When I was in Malta

a priest approached me, Catholic priest, who took his
father’s absolution at his death. And this, boys and men, is
what his father did. He made this hiding hole and stuffed
this lot in here – and the Templar treasure - after he
decided he was on the wrong team.
‘The priest’s father was a Nazi, something of a shock
for the cleric, to say the least. What his old man did was to
act as a kind of bookkeeper for a dodgy European
freemason group containing a shit load of Nazis who
didn’t let on about their past - or the deep dark vaults with
the crown jewels of Europe in. And all these cabinets are
full of companies who got started in life with Freemason
funds.’

‘You mean Nazi funds,’ Grey suggested.

‘Yep. And there’s enough evidence here to launch
legal challenges to the ownership of half the companies in
Europe. Not to mention the corruption and collusion and
the money laundering.’
He opened another cabinet. ‘This is what the power
brokers fear, what they really fear. Documented evidence
of the start capital, Freemason dealings, and half the
fuckers involved in this are still alive, their sons and
daughters running the family business. Take all these
companies, and what they’re worth today … and you’ve
got a figure in the trillions.’
Grey inched closer. ‘Johno, this could wreck the
economy of Europe.’
‘I know.’ Searching through the cabinets he quickly
found what he was looking for, a group of pages that he
folded and pocketed. ‘Thomas, keep that file. Guys,
destroy the rest of this lot.’

102

‘Destroy it?’ Grey gasped.

‘Hey,

you’re the one who just pointed out the cost of

this getting out. All I need is just the one file to put the
shits up them, so destroy the rest.’
‘Christ, Johno,’ Grey began. ‘Don’t you think you
should discuss this … further up the chain of command?’
Johno stood square to Grey. ‘For what, later
blackmail? If those files get into the wrong hands
somewhere along the line Europe goes bankrupt – as you
pointed out. So I can’t take the risk. Besides, that one file
is enough, plus the threat.’

He retrieved another file, clicked his lighter and set fire

to a corner, placing it on the table with Grey watching.
‘Mavo, Bilbo, burn them – that’s an order.’

‘Don’t,’ Grey firmly suggested.

Johno slowly turned to face him, a quick glance at
Mavo before offering Mr Grey a hard stare. ‘You
countermanding my order, Mr Grey?’ he asked, softly, but
with a level of threat in his voice. Mavo put a hand on his
pistol.
Grey took a half step closer, offering Johno a steely
stare. ‘Someone here has to be sensible. Sir. We’re
underground, dumb fuck - nowhere for the smoke to go!’
He cracked a smile.

Johno lifted his eyes and scanned the roof, followed by

the troopers.
‘Unless you want the dungeon full of smoke?’ Grey
teasingly enquired.
Johno sighed, grabbed a file and started to tear the
pages, easily ripping the old files and their damp paper in
half. ‘Thomas, put that file under your bed, go and ask for
a meeting in thirty minutes – Otto, Max Blaum, Beesely,
Helen and Claus. Scoot.’

Thomas ambled off as Mavo and Bilbo tore up files.

‘Chuck ‘em in the corner after, pee on them,’ Grey
suggested. ‘It’s old paper, the ink will go quickly.’

103

With the files torn up, scrapped into the floor with their

muddy boots and then peed on, they stopped and surveyed
the mess. Grabbing mud from the passage leading to the
flooded cave, and stamping it into the files, came next.
Finally they retrieved water in priceless golden urns.

Johno showered, put on fresh clothes, downed a Vodka
Red Bull, and now sat staring at the wall. His phone
buzzed. ‘Yeah?’

‘Sir, the people requested are all here.’

‘Thank you.’ He remained facing the wall.
Grey stepped in, also in fresh clothes. ‘It’s time … for

whatever you’ve got planned.’

‘Truth or dare, Grey-boy, truth … or dare.’ He eased

up, picking up the damp old file.

In the courtyard he signalled the ex-SAS squads – all

of them - leading them all into the command centre, lining
them up on the companionway to the curious observation
of the staff.
In Helen’s office the requested people were sat
assembled, tea and coffees already delivered. He placed
the old file into the centre of the desk, retrieving the list
from his pocket and placing it next to the file. Saying
nothing he went and slumped into his usual chair, Grey
sitting behind on the cabinet.

And then Johno just waited.

‘Well?’ Beesely asked, manoeuvring his wheelchair to

face him.

Johno put a finger to his lips without looking up.

Helen lifted the list and glanced at it, working hard at
controlling her reaction. ‘What … what are these?’ she
asked.
Johno checked his fingernails. ‘Ask Otto and Blaum,’
he softly encouraged.

104

Otto eased up and stepped to the desk, stood with his
hands clasped behind his back, staring down at the file and
the list. He glanced at Blaum, a concerned look, joined in
their trepidation by Claus. Nothing was said for several
seconds.

Beesely finally said, ‘Well? Who goes first?’

Otto sat back down, that odd move carefully observed
by Beesely, who took in the various faces and their
expressions as Thomas wandered in and stat next to Johno.
Johno blew out. Without looking up he said, ‘Helen,
would you like to take that list and go back to the UK?’ As
he finished the sentence he lifted his eyes, observing her
from under his eyebrows.
She held her gaze on the list. ‘How long have you
known?’
Now everyone focused on her, and that strange
statement.

‘That you were sent here to spy on us?’ Johno teased.

‘Spy on us?’ Otto repeated, Blaum shifting uneasily in

his seat.
‘Didn’t you know, Otto?’ Johno pointedly enquired.
‘Well, guess you’re not as smart, or as sneaky, as you
would have liked to be. But we already know that.’ Otto
faced him; a firm, yet surprised, stare. ‘Oh, by the way,’
Johno put in. ‘The Templar’s treasure is below us.’

‘It is?’ Beesely asked.

‘Yep,’ Johno sighed. ‘And in the next chamber is
where I found that old file and that list. That’s what the
old rumour said – the secrets of Europe are buried next to
the Templar’s treasure, or something like that. Of course,
if it wasn’t explained to you, you might not understand the
riddle. Someone explained it to me, which is just as well,
because I’m a bit thick.’
‘I think, Johno, you are far more capable than you let
people believe,’ Otto quietly stated, facing the carpet.

105

‘I’m proud of him,’ Beesely said. ‘Still, I had hoped he

would have figured this all out sooner.’
Johno slowly realised what Beesely had just said, and
the implications, before slowly cranking his head around
to him.
Beesely added, ‘The day Otto turned up the UK you
had a secret meeting with Army Intelligence, General Sir
Christopher Rose. That hotel room had more bugs than the
mucky carpet!’

‘You knew?’ Johno gasped.

‘Be a cold day in hell when you could put one over on

me, layabout!’

‘Put one over on you? I told them to sod off!’

‘I know, I listened to the tapes. Still, you could have
told me later.’

‘Likewise, wrinkly!’ Johno snapped.

‘Would someone like to explain this,’ Grey
encouraged.
Beesely faced him. ‘Johno’s old bosses in British
Army Intelligence, they asked him to keep any eye out for
those files and that list, before Otto contacted us in the
UK.’
‘Ah…’

Otto and Blaum made eye contact.

Helen made eye contact with Johno. ‘You … were
working for General Rose?’
‘No, is the simple answer,’ Johno replied. ‘They gave
me the background to this whole mess, asked me to keep a
eye out for those files … as soon as they saw K2
investigating Beesely and me.’
‘Have you been in contact with them?’ Helen asked
Johno.
‘No.

You?’

‘Yes.’

Otto again glanced at Blaum.

106

Johno faced Otto. ‘Got a spy in our midst. In fact –’ He

counted with a finger. ‘- I’d say we have seven and a half
spies in this room.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ Beesely lightly let out. ‘Intrigue!’

Johno checked his nails. ‘So, Otto, you’re being very
quiet. Helen working for British Intelligence, I’d have
thought you’d be jumping up and down right about now.’
‘In some countries, Johno, it is rude to ask a question
when you already know the answer,’ Otto stated.
‘Then I shall ask a question that I am … not sure
about. Does Max know … all of what you did?’

Otto glanced at Blaum. ‘No.’

‘Fine. Then we’ll keep it that way,’ Johno suggested.
‘After all, Max is in no position to criticise anyone. Are
you, Max?’

Max stared back for several seconds. ‘What … are you

planning on doing with those files.’

Johno looked over his shoulder at Grey, a slight grin.

Grey asked, ‘Would those be the files we just
destroyed?’

Blaum jumped up. ‘You destroyed them?’

‘That is, more or less, what you wanted, Max,’ Johno
suggested. ‘Or should I say, what you – and the Swiss
Government – wanted, was control of the files.’

‘We needed those files –’ Blaum began.

‘No, not any more you don’t. You don’t need bits of
paper when you have us. We’re far more dangerous to the
Basel Group – than bits of paper.’

Blaum slumped, issuing a heavy sigh. ‘We could have

counter-balanced their threats…’
‘Problem with threats, Max, is that you sometimes
need to carry them out. Which would have been a big no-
no, seeing as most of the crimes at the core of the Basel
Group were committed … well, let’s see … in Basel.
Which, according to my geography, is in Switzerland –
strangely enough.’

107

Beesely laughed to himself. ‘Otto, why don’t you tell
everyone what happened after Gunter’s untimely death.’
Otto glanced at Blaum before facing Johno. ‘Even
before Gunter’s … death, I had tracked down Beesely,
without confirming any of the detail of Beesely’s past
associations. I had hoped, given that I was not Gunter’s
son and heir, that Beesely may have taken over, keeping
me here.

‘But a day after Gunter’s death Max came to see me, to

explain why K2 existed at all. You see, I did not know
much of the detail, Gunter was a private man - anyone
asking questions would have been dealt with, even me.’
He took a breath. ‘Gunter was a founding member of
the Basel Group, making use of Nazi gold and treasures to
influence the existing Freemasons of Europe, and to start
companies. By 1956 it was already a formidable
organisation, the Nazi gold known about by American
OSS and British SOE, and investigated, but they were
more interested in the Russian threat by that time and so
… turned a blind eye, as you say, to the group’s Nazi past.
The Group offered to help the West, with agents in the
former East Germany and the Czech Republic.
‘The group grew in strength, but a dispute emerged
about the Templar treasure and – oddly enough – about the
religious treasures they held, especially by the Italians and
the Vatican. A senior official was murdered, a lot of the
treasure hidden from the group –’

‘Hidden here,’ Grey noted.

Otto glanced at Grey, then continued, ‘Hidden by the
group’s bookkeeper, who disappeared as well. Many
thought that Gunter had stolen the treasure, so he fell-out
with them. But Gunter found only part of it, the part he
really wanted being the files – to use as blackmail against
the rest if need be.

‘That need did arise, and they tried several times to kill

him. In 1965 he moved here, believing the treasure to be

108

hidden here. He built K2 to protect himself, and this place,
as he searched for the Templar treasure and, more
importantly, the files.’

‘And that’s something that has struck me many times,’

Johno began. ‘They always attacked here, yet we have
nice big, vulnerable – glass-fronted – office blocks in
Zurich and elsewhere.’
‘There is no treasure hidden in Zurich,’ Otto softly
pointed out.
‘When we first came here,’ Johno began, ‘Beesely
noted the security. And odd arrangement, so much security
for one old man, and right under the nose of the Swiss
Government - something else that I gave a great deal of
thought to over the months. Why good old Max Blaum let
us run-amok around here. I think I know the reason, and
that would be because you helped to build K2 – as a
counterbalance against the Basel Group. Did they threaten
the Swiss Government?’

Max reluctantly nodded. ‘They claimed to have the …

those files -’

‘Which would be a problem for you,’ Johno suggested.

‘If a journalist got hold of them … all those deep dark
Swiss secrets out in the light of day, Swiss bank’s Nazi
gold being used to kick-start the European economy after
the war.’

Max again nodded. ‘And they have made other threats

and problems for us.’

‘And you wanted rid of them,’ Johno suggested. ‘Or at

least you wanted an organisation like K2 which could
push back – but you couldn’t do so because of your own
bleeding constitution.’

Again Max nodded, easing back in his chair.

Otto added, ‘When Max explained everything, how K2

was formed, the Government assistance, the war with the
Basel Group … I was sick. I did not stop shaking for many
days, expecting to be killed at any time.’

109

‘But having someone like Beesely, with his contacts,
sat at the head of K2 … gave you hope,’ Johno suggested.
Otto glanced at Beesely, a gentle nod. ‘Did you
suspect?’

‘Of course,’ Beesely responded.

Johno made eye contact with Otto. ‘That stuff you told

us at the old house, on the first day…?’

‘Mostly true,’ Otto insisted. ‘Much of which Max does

not know.’ He ended the sentence by glancing at Minister
Blaum.
‘Nor, I think, do I need to know,’ Max softly stated.
‘We are all just a step away from jail, or a bullet. And the
Basel Group may be here sooner, rather than later.’
‘The list is there, Max,’ Johno stated. ‘If you want it,
it’s yours, and the treasure, and the money. All you have
to do is ask me to leave and I’ll be on the next train with
Thomas.’
Otto stared at Beesely, who remained silent. Max
stared at Johno. No one said anything for several seconds.

Claus turned to Otto. ‘I believe, Otto, that our chances

of staying alive … would be far better with Johno here,
than elsewhere.’

‘That’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard for a while,’

Beesely loudly growled.

Otto held his gaze on Beesely. ‘If I had not been such a

coward, if I had taken this fight on myself, Jane would still
be alive, with you in the Caribbean.’
Beesely lowered his head for a moment. Lifting it
again he said, ‘That may well be, but what of Europe and
the UK? Turmoil, death and destruction. She was one
person out of thousands that have died, and thousands
more that may die if we lose this fight. It takes far more
for you to face danger, than it does for likes of me and
Johno. And Otto, I am still proud of you.’ He offered an
encouraging smile.

110

‘All this time you did not say anything,’ Otto softly
stated.
‘Didn’t know who, in here, was reporting back to the
Basel Group,’ Beesely explained. He faced Johno.
‘Perhaps now is a good time to apologise to Helen.’
Johno faced him. ‘Apologise? What the hell for, she’s
been spying on me!’
‘Which you knew from the start, and you knew she
was working for the same people as you, and yet you still
subjected the poor woman to your bed!’

‘You knew?’ Helen asked Johno.

‘Of course I knew. Woman of your quality - shacking
up with me? Hah!’
‘What does that mean?’ Thomas asked, concerned. ‘Is
Helen not happy with you?’
Johno faced him, a saddened, apologetic expression.
‘We may be leaving today, Helen going someplace else.’

Thomas stood. ‘Why? Why can’t we stay together?’

‘Yes … why?’ Beesely added.

Helen turned to face Otto. ‘Are you going to take me
outside and shoot me?’ she asked, seemingly not too
concerned.
‘No, they’re not,’ Johno firmly reassured her. ‘The
command centre is stuffed full of my troops. If you want
to leave, you can do so.’
‘I have no intention of harming you,’ Otto quickly
informed her. ‘The idea is repulsive to me. I wish you to
remain, if that is possible given your status with the
British Government.’

‘They sent me to find the files,’ she reminded him.

‘Which could take … bleeding ages,’ Beesely
suggested.

‘Years,’ Grey added.

‘They may never be found,’ Max admitted.

‘Not since we destroyed the fucking things, they
won’t,’ Grey quietly pointed out.

111

She turned to face Johno. ‘You’re the owner, and the
boss. I work for you.’
Johno’s turned his head, making eye contact with
Thomas, who’s face now brightened.

Thomas punched him on the shoulder. ‘Say something.

Tell her to stay. Buy some nice flowers and things, or
some treasure from the cave.’

Johno made eye contact with Helen. ‘If you’ll stay, I’ll

increase your salary to … a million a year.’ Thomas
punched him again. ‘Maybe five million a year, two
weeks off in the summer if you teach the little monster
stuff.’
Beesely

laughed.

‘I accept,’ came a quiet voice, Helen doodling with her

pen.

Johno stared back, stunned. ‘You do?’
‘I do. Although not – you know – walking down the
aisle I do, obviously.’

‘Obviously,’ Beesely repeated, Johno glancing at him.

‘Obviously,’ Grey repeated, Johno glancing the
opposite way.

‘Will you lot fuck off,’ Johno suggested.

‘What does that mean?’ Thomas pleaded, stepping
closer to Helen. ‘Are you staying?’
‘Yes, I’m staying,’ Helen replied, an arm around the
boy.

‘Till the end of the week, when we are all either killed

or jailed,’ Blaum put in.

‘Have faith,’ Beesely told him. ‘Johno has a plan.’

‘Johno,’ Blaum began, ‘had the entire Swiss
Government and diplomatic service on panic alert. You’ll
forgive my sceptical nature, but most of my colleagues
have offered large sums for his murder.’

112

‘Part of the plan,’ Johno firmly suggested, wagging a
finger. ‘Keep ‘em guessing! Which reminds me. Otto,
grab a paper and pen.’ Without looking up Helen wiggled
the pen she was holding. ‘Forget that. Helen, take a note,
for Otto. Please. I need four large wooden boxes,
genuinely dated to the thirteenth century, plus wooden
timbers from a ship of that era.’

‘Wooden timbers?’ Helen repeated.

‘You know what I mean,’ Johno said in threatening
tones.

‘And just where,’ Beesely asked, ‘is this treasure going

to be found?’

‘Where else? Nova Scotia!’

‘Nova Scotia?’ Grey repeated.

Johno lifted his head to him. ‘Some plonkers think that

the Templars sailed it there from Paris, winter of 1307.’

‘I read that recently,’ Helen put in.

‘What will that do?’ Blaum asked.

‘Send a lot of people that way, for one,’ Johno
explained. ‘And, if it’s found on the same day that we get
violent over here, might just grab the front page.’
‘Clever,’ Beesely put in. ‘Just like the British
Government – release the bad news on a day when
something big happens.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Otto let out, nodding.

‘Next part of the master plan. Otto, I need those names

you’re working on, then I need that list on the desk
programmed into your computer thingy –’
‘Computer thingy,’ Helen repeated. ‘How you
spelling… thingy?’

Johno again wagged a warning finger at her. ‘Factor in

their ages, look for the offspring – all male – because our
buddies in the freemasons don’t accept women.’ Otto
retrieved the list, starting to read it. ‘Do it at home for
now, they’ll be some more info arriving from other

113

sources as well. But first, Encosol.’ He faced Claus. ‘We
started buying shares?’

‘Yes, but outside of the markets, direct to the financial

institutions.’
‘If we’ve enough tomorrow, and the voting rights of
the Saudis and the Russians, we make a take-over bid.
Yeah?’
Claus cautiously nodded. ‘That will receive a lot of
publicity.’
‘What did you offered the Saudis and the Russians?’
Helen asked.
‘Panels and Templar trinkets. Oh, while I think of it,
tomorrow, no staff allowed to bring mobile phones to
work and I want mobile phone jammers in place and
scanners to look for radios. If - and that’s a big if – if
we’re ready tomorrow night we go on lock-down till its
done, no one leaving, so no chance of a leak. Someone out
there is still working for the other side.
‘Max, day after lockdown we’ll need the Army
surrounding this place, all our boys will be … otherwise
occupied.’

Blaum straightened in his chair. ‘May I enquire, Johno,

just what you plan on doing?’
Johno eased back. ‘I’ve given it a lot of thought, as to
how we may … defeat or disable Basel. But first, what
would you see as a good way of dealing with them, other
than some stand-off?’

‘We have had the stand-off, as you say, for some forty

years.’
‘Which hasn’t worked,’ Johno delicately suggested.
‘They’ve got stronger, and more aggressive.’ He waited.
Blaum looked at his shoes, a desperate sigh issued. ‘I
had considered that the existence of the files may be an
option–’

‘More stand-off nonsense,’ Johno snapped.

114

Blaum lifted his head briefly then went back to his
shoes.
‘We need to deal with them once, and for all!’ Johno
insisted.
‘Someone else will come around eventually,’ Beesely
scoffed.
Johno faced him. ‘To quote Mr Stanton, such
relationships take decades of trust. So, a knockout blow
will give us decades,’ he suggested. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave
the detail for later. Just … in case.’ He faced Otto. ‘Any
Society members on my travel list?’
‘Three,’ Otto replied. ‘Regular, and suspicious. I have
also checked the share ownerships of their banking groups
and have already linked them back to Italy and directors of
Encosol.’

‘Then be so kind as to tell the society that we need an

emergency meeting tonight at one of our hotels.’
Otto glanced at his watch. ‘It may be possible.’ He
lifted his phone and stepped out, an indignant glance at the
SAS troopers lined up.

Johno followed him out to the companionway. ‘Ready

squads, back to normal duties.’
Stepping back in, Blaum said to him, ‘Not going to
shoot us then?’
‘Like I said earlier, this is your show – you invited us
in,’ Johno said as he navigated around the desk and sat.
‘And our responsibility if it goes wrong,’ Blaum
unhappily added.

‘We’re all in this together,’ Beesely told him. He faced

Johno. ‘Olly on board?’ Johno nodded. ‘Elle?’ Again
Johno nodded. ‘Should be a good fight then,’ Beesely
enthused.

115

Like father like son

At 7pm Johno and Otto reached the hillside hotel.
Stepping down from the vehicles, one of the Society’s
staff objected to the SAS troopers piling out of the Range
Rovers. A gun in his neck silenced him, Johno waving the
man inside.
In the foyer they collected two more surprised aids
before entering the main function room, where the
members now sat around a large table. The lights were,
however, reasonably bright and refreshments already
being appreciated. The aids being pushed in at gunpoint
caused a chorus of indignant whispers, some members
standing. The troopers lined up, MP5s pointed at the group
as Johno took in the members faces, slowly walking along
the table length to the elderly leader.
Johno offered, ‘Apologies for the soldiers, but we …
you … have a security problem.’
The group’s spokesman stood, an indignant look.
‘What is the meaning of this?’
Johno walked to the windows and glanced out, dusk
coming on, Otto stood ready at his side. He turned and
faced the leader. ‘If you knew that certain members of this
… Society were linked to … let’s say, certain freemason
groups – with close links to criminal gangs and terrorists -
would you be interested to know who they were?’
The members glanced at each other, a few hurried
whispers exchanged.
The elderly leader lifted a shaky hand and hooked
finger. ‘Do you say they are working for Basel?’ Johno
nodded. The leader faced the assembled group. In German
he asked, ‘Who works with Basel?’

Johno rolled his eyes, wondering just who was about to

volunteer that information. Not surprisingly, no one raised

116

their hand. The table fell silent, members now either
glancing at each other or at the soldiers.
The leader looked back to Johno. ‘We wish to know
this.’
‘And if you know this, what would you like us, K2,
your servants, to do about it?’

The leader waved his hand. ‘To remove them.’

‘To remove them … permanently?’

‘Yah!’ the old man said with some anger.

Johno took out a small aerosol spray that he had
brought with him, walking to the first man that he
recognised from Otto’s photographs. As the man looked
up he sprayed directly into the man’s mouth. The man
coughed and choked, seemed to recover, then finally
slumped. Otto signalled troopers forwards, two carrying
the man out as shocked whispers shot around the room.
Johno walked slowly around the group, smiling
sadistically and nodding at faces as they turned up. At the
next member, a tall and thin man, he pulled his victims
head back and sprayed directly down into his mouth. The
man coughed, holding his throat, asleep a few seconds
later. More concerned whispers leapt around the table and
the assembled twenty-two members.
The final man made a brave run for the door, a punch
from a trooper easily taking him down. Trussed with
plastic ties, he was dragged out, nervously observed by the
remaining members.
Johno approached the leader. ‘Apologies, Herr
Director and members.’

‘Basel will know,’ the leader cautioned.

‘Basel will have to deal with me,’ Johno loudly stated.

‘Someone once said – buried next to the Templar treasure
are files of great value.’
Gasps and whispers shot around the table, stunned
looks from the members.

‘You have the files?’ the Society’s spokesman asked.

117

‘We do, and they are safe, away from Zug and away
from the Basel group,’ Otto stated. ‘If necessary, we will
use them in our defence.’

‘And the treasure itself?’ the spokesman asked.

Otto placed a golden coin on the table. ‘The treasure
has not been found yet.’

The leader lifted the coin, a coy smile for Otto.

‘To business, Gentlemen,’ Johno loudly stated, waving

out the remaining troopers. ‘We’re going to try and get the
controlling share of many large companies in Europe.
When we do so we’ll damage the Basel group. How much
damage we do will depend on how much money we have
at our disposal.’

‘You will buy share capital?’ the spokesman surmised.

Otto nodded to him. ‘And combine it with existing
portfolios, plus that of our allies.’
‘We have many shares in their companies,’ the
spokesman explained with a shrug.
Otto took out two notepads and placed them on the
table. ‘If you would please write down which companies
you believe are majority controlled by Basel, and people
you suspect, it will help us in this fight.’
Members started to whisper names and corporations,
two men rapidly writing them down.

Johno faced the leader. ‘Will you help us?’

‘Of course. Basel threaten us,’ the old man said in a
heavy accent. ‘We had the problem with Gunter, but K2
stopped Basel from being in Switzerland. We will transfer
money.’

‘Thank you,’ Johno offered, extending a hand to shake.

‘How is Bis-el-ley?’

‘He’s now in a wheelchair, but OK.’

Ten minutes later and the list was complete, those
people they suspected - or knew of being involved -
scribbled down, plus those companies they knew were
affiliated to Basel.

118

‘Gentlemen,’ Johno called. ‘It is very important –
critical - that no one discusses this till we are ready to
move. No email, careful on the telephone. Do not tell
wives, girlfriends … or mistresses!’

A few smiles broke out.
‘We will co-ordinate with you for the take-overs,’ Otto

informed the leader. A respectful Swiss head tip and they
left the group to debate this extraordinary turn of events.

* * *

On the way back Johno’s phone went. ‘Yeah?’

‘Johno, Kev, where the fuck are yis?’

‘Shit, forgot all about you!’

‘Ya

what?’

‘Listen, if you get a list of … what was it –’

‘Wine producers,’ Kev put in.

‘That’s it. Send someone over with it, hand courier.’

‘Listen, Johno, right now I’m thinking of painting the
walls here an azure blue.’
‘I’m with you. Change of plan anyway, get everyone
here. We found some old files that will keep our enemies
at bay, and … a … list ... of … names.’

‘Ya been drinking again?’

‘My next chore. Tell the boys Dame Helen has agreed

to marry me.’
‘Ya

what?’

‘See you soon. TTFN.’ He hung up.

Otto asked, ‘Was that some sort of code?’

‘Yeah,

azure means you’re being bugged. You drop it

in casually, like … an azure blue sea.’
‘I believe that Helen will be … concerned at the last
part of that message.’
Johno forced up his eyebrows. ‘Not as concerned and
confused as the fuckers listening in!’

119

‘You believe that British Intelligence can compromise
our satellite phones?’ Otto asked, clearly concerned.
‘No, that was his mobile. He dropped the satellite
phone in a lake when he was fishing. Have to get him
another one.’
‘I will take it out of his pay,’ Otto suggested, straight-
faced.

‘What are you … Swiss?’

Johno found Helen in the restaurant playing chess against
Diaz, Casper playing against Thomas. ‘Who’s winning?’
‘Casper’s very good,’ Thomas whispered, not taking
his eyes off his board.
‘And this good lady is quite a tactical thinker,
somewhat aggressive at times,’ Diaz said, looking up and
smiling formally at Johno.

‘Anyone want anything?’ Johno quietly asked.

Helen raised a finger whilst studying the board. ‘Hot
chocolate, small slice of Napoleon.’
‘I’m afraid I’m rather full – curry night!’ Diaz
informed him.
‘Bugger, I missed it,’ Johno let out, ordering Helen’s
refreshments.

‘Busy man,’ Diaz noted, returning to the boards.

Johno sat next to Thomas, facing Diaz. ‘We just had
some experts check out some old timber trunks.’ Casper
lifted his head. Johno continued, ‘Turned out to be
sixteenth or seventeenth century.’

‘Never mind,’ Diaz whispered, eyes on the board as he

moved a piece.
‘We did find some old Jewish stuff, seventeen
hundreds, piece in your room,’ Johno quietly told Casper.

‘I’ll have a look later,’ the Israeli offered.

‘Don’t tell the Pope,’ Johno whispered.

120

‘I heard that,’ Diaz quipped.

‘Check mate,’ Casper informed a dejected Thomas, a
fatherly gaze at the lad.

Johno told the boy, ‘You learn more from losing, than

you do from winning,’ Johno himself being carefully
studied by Diaz.
Casper stood. ‘Do you want to show me this …
whatever it is?’

Johno said: ‘Wooden carving.’

As they stepped out Diaz watched them go with
interest, Diaz himself being carefully assessed by Helen.

‘He doesn’t take sides,’ she suggested, returning to the

board. ‘He’ll see the pieces in play in front of him, then
he’ll make his choices.’
‘A field commander,’ Diaz suggested. ‘I believe your
Wellington was the same.’
‘He was once on a mission to Bosnia – Johno, not
Wellington – and it was all carefully planned –’ She
moved a piece. ‘- but when he got there, the field he was
supposed to sneak across was flooded, so he went around.
From the opposite side of the field he could see the old
minefield signs.’
‘Lucky.’
‘Yes,’ she let out slowly. ‘He is … a very lucky man,
when it comes to surviving. Check.’

They made eye contact.

* * *

Casper lifted the lid off the box. Frowning strongly, he
lifted the heavy item then gasped, collapsing backwards.
Fortunately the bed was there, Johno making no effort to
move Casper’s way, or to assist. Casper slid to the floor,
his back against the bed.

‘You’ll need to keep this quiet.’

‘You know what this is?’ Casper gasped.

121

‘I don’t give a fuck what it is,’ Johno coldly stated,
Casper turning his head. ‘It’s not about to find a cure for
cancer, stop any wars … or bring back Afros and disco.
And there’s a condition that comes with that.’

‘A … condition?’

‘Yeah, it don’t see the light of day for ten years. If
that’s not agreeable it’s going in the fucking lake.’
Casper reverently cradled the object; carved Cedar
wood covered in inscribed silver plate, wrestling himself
to his feet. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, if you want to take that home to play with you

keep it under wraps. Jewish eyes on, no TV.’
Casper stared at the object, gently nodding to himself.
‘I do not think our scholars will have a problem with that.’

‘Best frigging verify it’s real first –’

‘No, no need for that, I was hoping for this piece, I
know it well. These words could only be faked by a very
small, select group. Even the style of the characters is as
expected.’

‘Fine. Go stick it in your cupboard.’ Johno turned.

‘Thank you,’ Casper offered.

Johno stopped. ‘Before you pop back upstairs, take the

stupid smirk off – Diaz will be jealous.’
Casper took a quick step towards Johno. ‘You have
more?’
‘They’ll be shipped out tomorrow. If you’re here after
that you’ll be killed in the crossfire.’
Casper shot Johno a horrified look. ‘You will be
attacked?’

‘Unless we do some attacking first. But, if all goes tits-

up, it’ll be frigging Armageddon around here.’

* * *

Helen stepped into the dungeon an hour later, Johno
mellowing on the sofa after three pints, ‘Legends of

122

Disco’ playing in the background. She poured herself a
wine and sat opposite. And waited.
‘Her Majesties Government know what they need to
know,’ Johno softly informed her without making eye
contact.

‘How?’ she asked, none too worried by the revelation.

‘Kev’s phone was bugged, so I made a point of
dropping in a few hints.’

She nodded before sipping her wine.

Now he faced her. ‘So, why are you staying … slack
draws?’
‘Your obvious charm and turn of phrase.’ He waited,
sipping his beer. She finally said, ‘I was heading here
before General Rose came around to my house. As I told
you before, I wasn’t ready to give up my job. Besides,
nothing left for me there.’

She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. ‘It looks a

bit odd on your CV – former head of SIS. Not that many
people willing to give us jobs. Best I could hope to do
would be to write technical books, or join the Strategic
Services Institute, play war games and scenarios, write up
reports.’
She peered into her glass. ‘It’s a great height to fall
from. No … net.’
‘You could still work here and not put up with me,’
Johno offered, a slight smirk evident.
She couldn’t resist a brief, broad smile into her glass.
‘And I like Thomas.’

‘Well, reason enough to stay then!’

She continued to study the inside of her glass. ‘And …

I like being treated like a princess. Mike never quite knew
how to deal with me, he often thought that I wanted a … a
new highbrow book on some military campaign, when
what I wanted was a hug – and the occasional good shag.’

Johno laughed. ‘You can’t say shag, you’re a lady.’

123

She raised her gaze to him. ‘And you’re … an
insatiable animal in bed. A bonus that makes up for the
face fungus.’
Again Johno laughed, Thomas stepping in and
tentatively sitting next to Helen.

‘Is everything OK?’ the lad nervously enquired.

‘Yeah, everything’s OK,’ Johno confirmed. ‘Apart
from the smell.’

Thomas ran and put the extractors on. Coming back he

said, ‘No security tonight?’

Johno squinted at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘No troopers on the stairs.’

With a puzzled, and annoyed look, Johno stepped to
the stairwell and opened the door an inch. Two silenced
shots registered immediately with Johno. ‘Under the bed,’
he whispered to Thomas, grabbing Helen and practically
lifting her towards the snug. He closed his bedroom door,
but it had no lock. Reaching under the bed he pulled off
the dartboard, Thomas sliding down into the hole in a
second.
‘Legs first, eight foot drop,’ he whispered toward
Helen, forcing her quickly towards the hole. She swivelled
awkwardly around and dropped down, her fingers resting
on the rim for a second before disappearing into the
blackness.
Johno copied her move; sliding legs under first, legs
down into the hole, body down, elbow out stopping
himself from falling, bed adjusted, dartboard grabbed, a
hand on the side, dartboard over, light gone.
‘Look out,’ he whispered into the pitch-blackness,
dropping down a second later.

124

The gunman entered the dungeon on his stomach, pistol
with silencer in his hand, the stairwell’s lights now out. He
stopped, listening more than looking.

A minute later he was concerned. For the three of them

to remain silent would be unusual; Johno was special
forces trained, but Helen and the boy were not. He eased
up, sweeping the room with his pistol.
A quick look to the right, into the firing range. Clear.
The gym was brightly lit, and no way out, so was
discounted. The sauna could have steam, so the snug
seemed the first option. He stepped silently forwards,
noting the half-drunk beer glass and the split wine glass –
pointing towards the snug. He smiled.
Stepping silently he reached the door. Back to the
stone wall, he opened the door with a foot, knowing
exactly the layout and dimensions of the rooms. He
waited, an ear to the breeze caused by the extractors, his
nostrils full of a pungent odour. Puzzling the smell took
many seconds.

It was oddly quiet. In he stepped; toilet ahead,

showers, Johno’s room, finally Thomas’ room - converted
from a store area.

With his back to the toilet wall he retrieved a small CS

gas canister, nudged the door with his foot, clicked the top
of the canister and dropped it in as it started hissing, the
thick wooden door closing. He waited. Beyond a minute
he was sure that the woman and the boy would be
screaming.
Next, Johno’s room. He tapped the door with the end
of his silencer. No response, no sounds, another CS gas
canister tossed inside. Another minute and he was starting
to doubt himself. Stepping quickly back to the main room
he stopped and listened, half out of the doorway. Nothing.
He turned, stepping silently to Thomas’s room, another
knock at the door greeted by silence, another CS canister
thrown in.

125

Now he was genuinely starting to doubt himself. Back

in the dungeon he ran quickly to the sauna area, time
against him. Checking the empty cubicles, easily viewed
by the clear glass, he quickly eliminated this room.
Back in the dungeon he considered a secret passage,
secure in the knowledge that there wasn’t one. Staring
again at the spilt wine glass he cursed, rushing up the
steps.

Johno clicked his lighter on and showed the way. ‘Stay
close,’ he whispered.

With Helen placing one hand on Johno’s shoulder, one

hand holding Thomas, they pressed forwards into the dark.
They ducked under the first arch, past the treasure and into
the corridor.
‘That next room is where the files were,’ Johno
whispered. ‘Behind us is the treasure.’
Johno took a long five minutes to re-locate the
stairwell. They stepped slowly up, still holding onto each
other. At the blocked end of the stairwell Johno could hear
cars.
‘This is the courtyard,’ he whispered. ‘It’s a thin wall
by the sound of it, but everyone will know where the
treasure is.’ He turned to face Helen.

‘What about the flooded cave?’ Thomas suggested.

‘I’m not dressed for a flooded cave!’ Helen forcefully
whispered. ‘Knock a hole through there and sound the
damn alarm!’
Johno lifted his phone and pressed green. ‘Hello?
Hello? No good.’ He pocketed it.
‘There is another steel door,’ Thomas said. ‘Mister
Grey told me about it. I know the way.’
‘Johno, you two may enjoy this stuff – I’m
claustrophobic! Open a damn hole.’

‘If I do, the mole knows about the treasure here!’

126

‘That

…

mole just tried to kill us! It sounded like he

shot one of the guards, who might still be alive.’
Johno stared at her outline, her concerned features
illuminated by the flickering lighter flame. He let out a
breath then shoulder butted the wall, making a dent and
loosening a brick. With some of the bricks removed he
could feel a layer of concrete. Loosening several bricks
and letting them fall he made a hole two foot square. With
a brick as a tool he smashed the concrete, immediately
pushing his head forwards and into the light.
Placed right in front of the hole stood a white board,
duty rota shifts displayed, and preventing anyone from
seeing him. He pushed his head through, an elbow and
then finally his phone. ‘This is Johno. Alarm, lock down,
no staff leave, mobile phone jammers now!’
An alarm sounded, the clatter of boots on tarmac
sounding as ready squads ran in or out.
Into the phone he quietly stated, ‘Ready squads to the
dungeon! Intruder! Intruder! Doctor to the dungeon.’ He
took a breath, easing back in. ‘Give it a while, they’ll get
to the dungeon.’
‘They must know!’ Helen whispered. ‘Basel is onto
us!’
‘Maybe. Maybe it was Diaz with some inside help,
pissed off about the treasure. Casper could have got
noticed.’ His phone crackled. Moving closer to the hole he
could hear, ‘Johno, it’s Grey, where are you?’

‘Cave exit, courtyard.’

‘Bilbo’s mate, Dave, is dead, Mark critical. You got
Helen and Thomas with you?’
‘Yeah,

we’re

fine.’

‘Dungeon is full of tear gas.’

‘Put the extractors on. Oh, and have the courtyard
cameras turned off, then come out to us.’

127

Five minutes later Johno helped Helen step across a pile of
bricks and into Grey’s arms, Thomas next. Stepping out he
met the ready squad, most of whom knew about the cave.
‘We two men down?’ he sombrely asked. They nodded.
Mavo said, ‘Someone knocked off the cameras near
the dungeon, and the stairwell, don’t know how the boys
got caught off guard.’
‘Someone they knew,’ Johno suggested. ‘Or someone
they didn’t fear.’
Otto stepped up to them, flanked by guards. ‘You
are… OK?’
Johno nodded, deep in thought. ‘Lock down, no one
goes out.’
‘It has been arranged. Whoever did this is still here.
We are going over the tapes, but some have been erased.’

‘A junior manager,’ Johno stated.

Otto reluctantly nodded. ‘They may know our plans.’

‘Doubt it,’ Johno stated. ‘This might be about the files,

someone might have seen the one I gave you.’
‘Or someone further at the Society is also a traitor,’
Otto suggested as they turned and headed inside.
Johno thumbed towards the hole. ‘Seal that up, four
guards at all times.’

Otto lifted his phone and gave the order.

On the companionway Johno stopped at the top of the
main stairs. ‘Your attention please.’ He waited. ‘We’re on
lock-down, with all outgoing mobile calls jammed, and
other calls monitored, because someone here –’ He
pointed. ‘- is a traitor.’

Staff glanced at each other.

‘No one goes home till we say. If you need to contact
family, write the message and give it to Claus. Make
yourselves comfortable, ladies and gentlemen – we have a
spy to catch.’

128

He slumped into his usual chair in Helen’s office,
Thomas next to him. Helen sat in the desk chair,
examining her dirty hands and suit, Otto sat off to one side
as she ordered refreshments.
Grey stepped in a minute later. ‘What the hell
happened?’

‘Lucky that hole was there,’ Johno let out. ‘Otherwise,

a shootout.’

‘You had your weapon?’ Grey queried. ‘And the kid’s

armed like Al Capone!’

Johno made strong eye contact. ‘Yes, and baggage.’

‘That would be me,’ Helen noted without looking up.

Bilbo stepped in, his look piercing Johno like a knife.

Johno stood and stepped slowly around to him. After a

moment he offered, ‘Sorry.’
‘The boys knew the risk, but I want this fucker,’ he
growled.
‘Take a fucking number and get in line,’ Johno
whispered. ‘Get back out there, stay sharp – no mistakes
tonight!’
Bilbo took in the faces as he withdrew, a long hard
look at the command staff from the companionway.
Johno faced Otto. ‘Draw up a list of everyone here,
then don’t try and prove which one did it, try and prove
where each one was at the time, leaving just who’s left.’
Otto stood back up. Johno wagged a finger. ‘Do it
yourself, trust no one!’
For the first time in memory, Otto loosened his tie
before he stepped out.

Johno turned to Grey. ‘Where was Diaz?’

‘I’ve been watching him like a hawk. He and Casper
were playing chess, arguing like hell – good twenty
minutes before the alarm went off. But he sure as hell ain’t
no cardinal.’

‘What do you mean?’ Johno asked.

129

‘I’ve watched the way he walks, holds himself. I’d say

he’s special ops’ for certain. Seen his hands.’

‘Yes,’ Helen put in. ‘Not an academic’s hands. But he

was supposed to be an archaeologist, so maybe the work
hardened them.’

‘Cardinals don’t dig, they supervise,’ Grey suggested.

Johno made eye contact with Grey, tipping his head
towards the door. ‘Baby-sit our friend. Send down
Casper.’

130

Traitor in our midst

Casper appeared as Helen and Johno sipped fresh coffee.

‘Have a seat,’ Johno curtly suggested.

Casper sat. ‘Problem?’

‘Where was Diaz for the last half hour?’

‘For that time, with me and Mr Grey in the restaurant.

Why, what has happened?’

‘Someone just killed a friend of mine, a second man is

critical and someone came for us three,’ Johno explained.
‘My

God.’

‘I’m shipping you out now, it’s not safe.’

‘And the … artefacts?’

Johno angered quickly. ‘What’s more important to
you, your life or the fucking baubles?’
Casper stiffened. ‘The baubles, as you put it. They
have been missing a long time. If it’s my life for them,
then fine.’
Johno stared his disbelief at Casper. He leant across
and hit the phone. ‘Send in Claus.’
When Claus arrived Johno ordered, ‘I want Casper
taken down to the treasure, tag what’s Jewish, move it out
immediately, heavy escort. He’ll be going with it, Zurich
flight, Gulfstream or Learjet. Stand ready to move the rest
of the treasure tonight. And I want four troopers taking
Casper to the airport.’

Claus gestured Casper towards the door.

Casper stood. ‘Good luck.’

‘Yeah, whatever,’ Johno said with a wave. With his
head lowered and a studious look taking hold, he turned to
Thomas. ‘When you came to the dungeon, before the
shooting, there was no one there?’
‘No.’

‘What about in the foyer?’

131

‘I think there were people behind the desk, moving
something.’
Johno made eye contact with Helen. ‘The gunman
slipped past when they were distracted, waited in the
stairwell, fired up when they returned.’

‘Would they both go like that?’ she queried.

‘No, not even if Otto ordered them to. One would
stay.’ He stared at the doorway, a heavy frown still firmly
in place. ‘If someone they trusted, or fancied, asked them
for help…’

‘Fancied?’ Helen repeated. ‘Oh, Frieserling’s assistant,

very attractive.’
He stood and walked quickly out, collecting the two
troopers stood guard. At the junction of the foyer and the
great hall he called the ready squad then stepped behind
the foyer desk, Mr Frieserling and his assistant, Hilda, sat
reading novels. They both now stood.

‘May I help you, Herr Director?’ Frieserling offered.

Johno sat on a table opposite and stared at them, two
troopers just inside the door, four looking over the
reception desk. ‘Got some questions. Please, sit.’ He
waited. ‘Did you move some furniture tonight?’

‘I do not believe so,’ Frieserling responded.

Hilda snapped her head around to him, a puzzled
expression forming. ‘You forget, sir, we moved the desk.’

‘Why do you say that, no desk has been moved?’

Johno glanced at the troopers. Weapons were raised in

sequence. ‘Hilda, did Mr Frieserling ask you to fetch the
two soldiers to move a desk?’
‘Yes,

sir.’

Frieserling jumped up, facing her. ‘That is not correct.’

‘Sit … the fuck … down!’ Johno growled.

Terrified,

Frieserling

sat.

‘One of you is lying,’ Johno coldly stated. ‘We could
torture both of you, but that might be … unfair.’ He stood

132

and closed the gap. ‘Either of you been in the dungeon any
time lately?’

‘No,’ was the common answer.

Johno nodded to himself, waving Frieserling up.
Stepping closer Johno leant in and sniffed Frieserling. ‘An
odd aftershave, Mr Frieserling. What do they call that …
pond water fresh?’ He stepped back and sat. ‘What do you
think a chemical analysis of you shoes and clothes will
reveal?’

They waited, nothing forthcoming from Frieserling.

‘Fetch Bilbo,’ Johno ordered, Bilbo appearing ten
seconds later from the courtyard.

Noticing the faces, and the looks, Bilbo focused on Mr

Frieserling.’
‘I’ll give you one chance for a quick death,’ Johno
offered Frieserling.
Hilda stepped off to one side as ‘Mr Freezer’ stood
solid, frozen to the stop. He seemed more angered than
afraid, trembling, Bilbo edging closer to him.
Johno let out a resigned sigh. ‘Take him to the chair
room. Bilbo, your call.’
Bilbo took down Frieserling with punch to the nose,
troopers dragging the guest manager out.

‘He was a traitor?’ Hilda gasped. ‘I knew him for five

years!’

Johno faced her. ‘Search this place, look for the gun.’

Otto met Johno on the companionway. ‘Is it true?’ he
asked. ‘Mr Frieserling?’
Johno nodded, taking in the command staff going
about their business. ‘He didn’t even try and defend
himself. So I’m thinking Vatican again.’
Otto sighed and faced the staff. ‘I will go through his
record, but they seem to be very efficient.’

133

‘They’ve had a long time at it,’ Johno offered. ‘Him
being in the foyer gave him a prime location, but why
come after me now? What was he waiting for?’
‘The treasure has only just been admitted to,’ Otto
suggested.
‘Vatican knew all along where it was, we even
suggested we’d give them the religious stuff. So why
trigger him to go all Rambo now?’

‘Perhaps he was Basel, he must have seen the file.’

‘I got someone else in mind,’ Johno enigmatically
suggested. ‘We’ll see.’

‘Sir! Gunfire in Herr Beesely’s room!’

They both turned and ran, troopers following; up two
flights of stairs and to the second door on the left. With his
pistol drawn Johno opened the door, a dead nurse slumped
against the left wall, blood spatter up the wall.

‘It’s OK!’ Beesely shouted.

They burst in, Johno and Otto followed by two
troopers. Beesely sat in his wheelchair, pistol in his right
hand.
‘What the hell happened?’ Johno asked, holstering his
pistol as he studied the dead nurse, counting at least six
gunshot wounds.

‘When she drew a pistol and started to casually fix the

silencer … I figured I should do something. Silly cow
didn’t realise a kept a pistol under the blanket on my lap.’
Johno and Otto closed in on him, Otto kneeling and
holding Beesely’s arm.
‘We just rumbled Mr Freezer,’ Johno informed
Beesely.
‘Never liked him,’ Beesely grumbled. Loudly he
ordered, ‘Move the damn body before she bleeds all over
my carpet.’ The troopers dragged her out, closing the door.
‘That’ll need a wash down,’ Beesely casually noted,
pointing at the wall.

‘We shall move you to another room –’ Otto began.

134

‘Pah! She doesn’t bother me, nor the blood. Sort it
later.’ He made eye contact with Johno, smiling. ‘Survived
another night!’
‘Night’s not over yet, and I just survived another
attempt.’
‘I heard. Still, the teargas will kill the smell of the
caves, eh? And your socks!’
Johno laughed, pouring out a whisky. He handed it to
Beesely, who now took a sip.

‘So, that all of them?’ Beesely asked.

‘Doubt it,’ Johno offered. ‘Mr Freezer might talk, your

stiff won’t.’ He lifted his phone as Otto stood. ‘This is
Johno. All staff other than managers are to turn off their
mobiles, placing them into an envelope with their names
on and then given to Claus. All admin staff are to hand in
their weapons, except managers. All weapons are to be
checked. Everyone is then to be searched, and everyone
going in or out is searched each time. Ta, love.’
Beesely offered Johno a concerned look. ‘Can you
bring forwards your plan?’

‘So so. The list is incomplete.’

‘Two hundred so far,’ Otto explained as he stood and
straightened his suit, ‘but some are obviously
questionable. We may well kill people who seem to be
linked, but are not.’
‘So we need more time,’ Johno admitted. ‘I need one
of the top table, then he can lead us to the rest.’
‘Many off the old list are dead, sons running the
business,’ Otto suggested.
‘Euro-Freemasons are hereditary!’ Beesely pointed
out.
‘Then perhaps two hundred and fifty,’ Otto informed
them.
‘Three hundred and fifty-two actual members,’ Johno
explained. ‘And that’s up to date.’ He grabbed Beesely’s
glass and took a sip before handing it back.

135

Beesely took another sip. ‘Got some work to do then,

boys.’

Johno lifted his head to Otto. ‘Now it’s out in the open,

all out crossing check, all staff on it.’
Otto touched Beesely’s arm, offering an encouraging
smile before he left.

Johno ambled back into Helen’s office ten minutes later.
Helen now sat with Otto, earnestly going through the list,
both computers powered up and working, his laptop from
home sat on the desk next to two other laptops, all now
scrolling through bits of information as various computer
programmes ran. ‘That looks complicated,’ Johno
mentioned as he sat.
‘The patterns are there, in the data,’ Helen responded,
still focussed on a screen. ‘We’ve devised a points system,
so that those more … well, rich and powerful – and
influential – plus old, are at the top, younger, less well-off
individuals at the bottom.’
‘Seems about right,’ Johno offered. ‘Can we get all
managers in ‘ere?’
Helen hit the phone, calling the managers. When
assembled, Mavo and his buddy stepped inside, carefully
observing the mangers.
‘OK, boys and girls,’ Johno began. ‘We’re at crisis
point. All of us, and I mean – all of us, are in danger from
the Basel Group. Is there … anyone not familiar with the
Basel Group?’

None of the managers responded, many sat with heads

lowered, looking to Johno a little ashamed and
embarrassed now that the name was out in the open.
‘OK, then. Moving on. We should have, by now,
collected in all mobile phones and weapons. Has that been
done?’

136

They confirmed it had been, Claus indicating that the
phones were under lock and key in a cabinet, and that
mobile boosters had been switched off, outside lines
restricted and monitored carefully. Radio scanners were
also in operation outside.

‘OK,’ Johno began with a sigh. ‘We have the files that

Basel wants and, hopefully by now, they know that we
have them. If not, tomorrow they will, I’ll make sure of
that. We also have a list of original members of the Group
and the companies they founded. That, boys and girls,
gives us the heart of their operation.

‘What these computer … thingys –’ He made brief eye

contact with Helen. ‘- are doing, is cross-matching that list
with others, to see who’s connected and who the present
day members are. When we have that list, if it takes a day
or a week, we’ll act against them. In the short-term I need
every computer expert we have working on these lists.
When we have a name they need to be checked to see just
who they are - and whether or not we believe that the
people outside of the main list - are actually Basel
members. You can eliminate the British and Americans,
probably the Russians too.

‘But make no mistake, boys and girls, if we don’t get

that list accurate we’ll probably be destroyed, all of us
ending up in jail or shot - as Max Blaum put it.’

A manager raised his pen. ‘I have ordered in five of

our best computer programmers, they will be here in ten
minutes.’

‘Good,’ Johno offered. ‘What else can we do?’
Otto eased his head forwards. ‘When we are ready,

when we have finalised the list as much as possible, we
can cross-match against the police and Interpol files.’

‘Which Basel will see straight away, yeah?’ Johno

asked.

Otto reluctantly nodded, looking dejected.

137

Helen faced Otto. ‘Can we get an old magnetic tape

backup of Interpol’s records, say … from six months
ago?’

‘I believe so,’ Otto offered.
‘Try it then,’ Johno encouraged. ‘Our priority must be

travel databases. They’re spread from Portugal to Italy, so
when they meet-up some must fly. That destination we
need … their meeting place.’

Otto explained, ‘Up until twenty years ago they met in

Basel, the border of Germany, France and Switzerland –
for obvious reasons. Then Gunter forced them out, so they
were believed to have met just across the border in
Strasbourg.’

Johno nodded. ‘So let’s get as many of the hotel details

there as we can, flights in and out of Strasbourg, trains,
border crossing logs, whatever we can.’
Helen put in, ‘There seems to have been bi-annual
meetings in Malta in the past six years.’
Johno gave it some thought. ‘Vatican has some
operations on Malta, that’s why I spooked them with my
dummy flight there. So, all hotels in Malta as well, and
flights relating to those dates. If everyone gets added to
the database, then ranked as Helen and Otto are already
doing, we should pick up the bodyguards as well.’
Otto offered, ‘I will alter the parameters to look for
them, since they will have no shareholdings, but will be
present amongst the travel databases.’

Johno’s satellite vibrated, starting to chirp in ascending

tones. ‘Yeah’
‘It’s

Bilbo.’

‘Did he talk?’

‘Yeah, French Secret Service, so was the nurse that
took a shot at Beesely.’

‘As I figured. OK, good work, head back.’ He hung up.

Facing Otto said, ‘Mr Freezer was DGSE.’

138

The managers glanced at each other, a few whispers
exchanged.
‘Then they know about the files, and the Templar
treasure,’ Otto surmised.
‘The files are not much harm to them,’ Johno quietly
stated. ‘All the big French companies are state owned, not
many on the list.’ He sighed. ‘No, I think they’d like the
treasure back.’
‘Should we not give them some of it?’ a manager
tentatively asked. ‘We do not want to take on the French
Government.’
‘Best have a chat with ‘em, then,’ Johno lightly
suggested, a smile for the female manager who suggested
it. ‘First, we send them a calling card, since they were kind
enough to try and kill us. I want the bodies of Mr Freezer
and the nurse dropped from a helicopter onto the DGSE
headquarters, Paris. And tonight.’

Otto stiffen, clearly concerned.

‘That’ll get their attention,’ Helen softly stated in
disapproving tones, staring wide-eyed at the desk.
‘It’ll also let them know that we’re onto them, so
they’ll be concerned – about just what we know,’ Johno
insisted. ‘They don’t want to get caught anymore than we
do!’ He took a big breath. ‘OK. Anyone want to add
anything?’
A manager raised a finger. ‘I took the liberty of
drawing up a list from our sources, and other police
databases, of suspected or known assassins and hired
gunmen. There are thirty-seven of a reliable nature, if that
is not a contradiction in terms, that could be paid to assist,
should we need them.’
‘Good, more the better,’ Johno enthused. ‘What’s our
total number of people who can shoot?’
‘I believe we could reach five hundred using our
guards and security staff,’ Claus stated.

139

‘Fine. Put them into groups of two, but I want our best

agents in groups of three, plus a set of twelve groups of
five. Ready them to move out day after tomorrow if we’re
on schedule and still breathing. Which reminds me.’ He
lifted his phone. ‘Elle Rosen, Mossad.’ He waited.

‘Johno?’ came from his phone ten seconds later.

‘Yeah, listen. Hardware, Zug, fast as you can, private
airstrip.’
‘It’s already in Europe, Netherlands, we’ll move it
now.’
‘Thanks. No bill here, be sorted in Panama.’ He hung
up.

‘Something?’ Otto enquired.

‘New hardware, thousand pistols with silencers,
untraceable, plus assorted ammo – glass, Perspex, sugar-
crystal. If our people go after Basel we’ll try – at least – to
have nothing tracking back here.’
Otto nodded his approval, a glance at Claus, who also
seemed to approve of the idea.
Johno said, ‘Right, tomorrow we try and take control
of Encosol.’ He made a face. ‘Where are their bleeding
headquarters?’

‘Genoa,’ Claus informed him.

‘Could drive there,’ Johno mumbled, thinking aloud.
Lifting his head and talking louder he said, ‘OK, that’s our
first nudge at them, hopefully getting me in front of their
top table.’

‘For what … purpose, exactly?’ Otto enquired.

‘See who they are, sound them out, identify them, get a

feel for them.’
‘See the pieces in play,’ Helen stated without looking
up.
‘Yep. Then I’ll make a final choice.’ He stood. ‘So,
let’s get those lists cracked, yeah?’

The managers stood and filed out, Claus being the last

manager out and closing the door. Johno grabbed a biscuit

140

off the desk as Otto returned to his computer software
endeavours.
‘If Basel are aware of any of this,’ Helen warned.
‘They’ll move first.’

Standing, Johno faced Otto. ‘What could they do, other

than another attack on this place – which would take days
to arrange?’
Otto

considered

Basel’s

options. ‘Their best hope

would be to expose us in the newspapers, which would
mean the Swiss Parliament asking some difficult
questions–’

‘Which would mean Max Blaum would have no choice

but to shut us down,’ Johno finished off. ‘Fine, we can
counter that with hard cash. Warn every newspaper
contact we have, tell them they can spend whatever they
want this week to suppress stories about us. Basel
probably own some of these papers, but are they daft
enough to waste that much money?’
Otto lifted his phone and stepped to the end of the
room.
‘You OK?’ Johno softly asked Helen, sitting on the
edge of the desk and facing her.
She eased back, rested her head on the chair and
swivelled it as she thought. ‘You seem to forget why I’m
here.’
Johno lifted an eyebrow. ‘My charm and turn of
phrase?’

Helen fought back a smile. ‘Besides that. If it’s a fight

with Basel, I’m in all the way. They took Sophie … and
wrecked my life.’

Johno sighed. ‘That seems like a long time ago.’

‘Not to me,’ she pointedly replied.

‘Not to worry, old man Gunter did his homework. He’s

given us all the aces against these fucks – everything is
stacked in our favour, except their connections to

141

European politicians. And I’m sure he could have taken
them down before.’

Helen puzzled that statement. ‘So why didn’t he?’

‘Probably not daft enough to do what I’m about to do,’

Johno said with a grin.
‘What

…

we’re about to do.’

He tipped his head in agreement as Otto returned.

‘Johno, Helen and I have some work … if you don’t
mind. Computer thingy work.’
Johno turned his head from Otto to Helen. ‘That’s
what I like about the Swiss, very polite when it comes to
telling you to fuck off.’

* * *

Two DGSE security guards, stood at a gate at the rear of
the DGSE Headquarters in Noisy-le-Sec, Paris, jumped
out of their guard station when they heard what they
thought was a car crash. Glancing around the well-lit car
park a second noise caught their attention, causing the two
men to run towards it through a light drizzle.

They stopped dead after ten yards and stared, finding a

naked woman embedded into a car, its alarm sounding, its
hazard lights flashing; the roof had collapsed, the windows
blown out. They lifted their radios and screamed for
assistance as they ran to the second car, who’s alarm was
now noisily protesting being disturbed.
They discovered a man’s body, covered in blood,
along with unusual red and purple burn marks. He lay face
down, head and shoulders through the Mercedes
windscreen as a fine, misty rain gently fell onto the surreal
scene.

142

Anglo-French relations

Max Blaum sat waiting in Helen’s office with the French
Ambassador at 7am, Johno having been woken at 6.30am
by Claus. Otto stepped in first, greeting the Ambassador
and ordering the sombre looking diplomat a coffee.
Johno stepped in a moment later with Helen, his dear
lady partner looking far more awake and refreshed than he
did. Helen sat off to one side, Johno taking the lead in this
meeting. He sat and calmly ordered coffees for himself,
Helen and Otto. Finally, he faced the Ambassador, the
same man that had been present during Luchenkov’s
attack. ‘So, what brings you down here again?’
‘Some difficult questions, Herr Johno,’ the
Ambassador unhappily stated as Beesely motored himself
in.
‘Survived another night,’ Beesely said to no one in
particular. ‘No more French Secret Service agents trying
to kill me!’ He manoeuvred around to be sat facing the
Ambassador.
The French Ambassador offered Beesely a puzzled
frown. ‘Did you say … French Secret Service trying to kill
you?’
‘Yes. Isn’t that why you are here – to apologise and
hand over the culprits who sent them?’
‘Culprits?’ the Ambassador repeated. ‘I have no
knowledge of such an … absurd allegation.’
Beesely turned to Johno. ‘Someone hasn’t had their
coffee this morning!’

The Ambassador stared indignantly at Johno. ‘What is

going on? I am here because two members of your staff
were found dead in Paris last night, at the Headquarters of
the DGSE.’

‘Really?’ Johno asked. ‘How did they die?’

143

‘Not least, a fall from an aeroplane!’ The Ambassador

was getting louder.
Johno inched his head around to Otto. ‘I thought we
used a helicopter?’

‘We did,’ Otto stated, Blaum sat wide-eyed, but silent.

‘Please, Ambassador, everything is in the detail. Try and
be accurate.’
The Ambassador looked like he might explode with
rage. ‘Try and be accurate!’ he repeated through clenched
teeth. ‘You murdered two people and dropped them from a
helicopter in Paris!’

‘Well,’ Johno sighed. ‘They were your people. Be a bit

odd to drop them … what … in Berlin.’
‘Our

people?’

‘Yeah, they were DGSE - long-term sleeper agents,’
Johno explained, enjoying the diplomat’s pained
expression. ‘Last night one tried to kill me, another
Beesely. We have a videotaped confession, naming names
on your side, plus contact phone numbers, dead-letter
drops, addresses of safe houses in Paris. We could send it
to the world’s media if you like.’
The Ambassador took a breath and calmed himself. ‘I
have no knowledge of any link between these … people,
and our security services.’

‘Keeping you in the dark, are they?’ Beesely enquired,

a slight grin evident.
The look on the Ambassador’s face suggested his did
not entirely disagree with that assessment.
Johno eased forwards, resting his arms on the desk.
‘Look, mate, nothing personal, but since you are just a
dumb messenger boy –’ The Ambassadors eyebrows shot
up. ‘- why don’t you arrange for a senior figure in your
security services to pop around and have a chat, eh? I’m
sure we can clear it all up, there and then.’ He stood and
waited.

144

The Ambassador glanced unhappily at Blaum, stood
up and then and stormed out.
Blaum stood, closed in on the desk and whispered,
‘The amount of money being offered by the Swiss
diplomatic core for your death is growing by the day!’ He
turned and trotted quickly after the French Ambassador.
Beesely manoeuvred around in his wheelchair till he
was square to Johno, a cautious, if not concerned look.
‘Don’t worry,’ Johno offered. ‘Got an ace in the hole
as far as the French are considered, just couldn’t tell him.’

‘Whilst we’re all hear, let’s get the war council sorted,’

Beesely suggested.

Johno thumbed Helen towards her chair as he slumped

into his usual seat. Otto called the managers, taking five
minutes to assemble, many of the managers looking less
than fresh for a change.

‘So, where are we?’ Johno finally asked.

Claus answered, ‘We believe we have ninety-percent
of the list complete, plus thirty bodyguards.’
‘Good,’ Johno offered. ‘Right, today I want five of
those bodyguards picked up and sent to the chair room.
We need answers. And from the time we pick them up, not
long to find those answers.’ The managers took notes.
‘We have the voting rights, Saudi and Russian,’ Claus
explained. ‘Should we give the Russians the Panels?’
‘Not yet, let’s see if they stick to their side of the
bargain. They’ll wait a day or so. Right, what else?’
‘We have eleven percent of the shares in Encosol,’
Otto put in. ‘Enough to launch a bid by itself.’

Johno and Beesely exchanged grins.

‘And with the Saudis and Russians?’ Johno asked.

‘Almost twenty five percent, an unstoppable block,’
Otto explained.
Johno pointed towards Otto. ‘Fine, launch the bid
faster than has ever been achieved in the history of bids.

145

Set a new record, I want to be in there … sat on the board,
today.’
Otto tipped his head. ‘It will be, as you say,
unprecedented, but not impossible. Our teams are standing
by in Geno; solicitors, investment managers and security
staff to replace those there. It will be… a shock for many,
and will make the news of Europe today.’
‘Excellent,’ Johno loudly enthused. ‘The treasure
moved out?’
Claus explained, ‘Casper took a dozen pieces and has
left Switzerland. Four boxes will be landing in Nova
Scotia shortly, the remainder has been split and scattered
to our vaults.’
‘So nothing left down there?’ Beesely asked, a little
surprised.
‘No,’ Claus informed the room. ‘The Arabic objects
are in another vault.’
‘Open it up downstairs, clean it, check for other
passages,’ Johno suggested. ‘Never know, there may be
something valuable hidden!’ Many of the group laughed.
‘Diaz still here?’ Helen asked Claus, who now
responded with a quick nod. She faced Johno, a question
in her look.
Johno shrugged then faced Claus. ‘Show him the
empty vaults, tell him it has been moved elsewhere, send
him off. Don’t show him the old files -’

‘They were burnt, sir,’ Claus cut in with.

‘In which case, show him that room, tell him what was

there – in detail, then send him off.’

‘What will that achieve?’ Beesely grumbled.

‘Take the heat off this place, for one,’ Johno answered.

‘Also, it’ll let them know we have the files, which should
scare them silly. Hopefully, they get that news as we go
play monopoly with Encosol in Genoa. Trust me, I learnt
from the best.’

Otto smiled. ‘Carry a big stick, but talk softy.’

146

That earned a broad smile from Beesely. ‘We’re going

to win this, boys.’

‘And girls,’ Helen softly added.

Thomas wandered in. ‘The dungeon smells OK now,’
he said as he went around to Johno.
‘Good. Get on your computer, look-up a company
called Encosol in Genoa, we’ll be going today hopefully.
You can brief me.’ Thomas stepped back out.

Claus put in, ‘Sir, we can do that for you?’

Johno let out a loud, irritated sigh. ‘I’m doing it to
make him feel involved.’

‘Ah, yes, sir. Sorry,’ Claus offered.

Johno made eye contact with Otto, a teasing smile.
‘What’s the youngest age a board director can be?’
Everyone laughed.
‘That’ll give them something to think about!’ Beesely
loudly enthused.
Otto focused on Johno. ‘Do you do these thinks
deliberately? Do you have a book of things that are certain
to upset a Swiss banker? If we nominate Thomas as
chairman everyone will know.’

‘If we survive the end of this week we’ll worry about it

then,’ Johno suggested.

* * *

‘Sir!’ Pepi’s aid loudly called as he stepped quickly
forwards.
Pepi looked up from his breakfast, unhappy at being
disturbed.

‘Sir! A hostile takeover at Encosol!’

Pepi stood, staring incredulously at his assistant. ‘How

is that possible? How is it possible that we did not know?’

‘Sir, it’s the International Bank of Zurich.’

‘K2!’ Pepi exploded, throwing down his napkin.

147

‘They have secured the voting rights of the Russians
and the Saudis.’
Pepi turned and stared hard out of the window. ‘Have
our people there remove any files that are -’

‘They can’t, sir.’

‘Can’t!’ Pepi roared.

‘There are private security guards, lawyers and police
outside the headquarters, at every exit, court orders to
prevent the removal of files prior to a meeting of the board
at 2pm today.’
‘Get my helicopter ready. Wait, what percentage do
they have?’
‘Twenty-five percent, sir. Even with all of our
associates we could not hope to match it.’

Johno, Thomas and Claus landed by helicopter on the roof
of the Encosol building at 1.55pm, greeted by two
unhappy looking security guards. Claus spoke to them in
Italian and handed over a sheet of paper, but they already
knew what to expect, directing the party downstairs.
An hour earlier the bank’s staff had descended on the
Encosol offices en-masse, documents thrust into the faces
of the security staff and managers as Encosol staff
observed. Now, K2 bank staff made their presence felt in
every office and department, the security staff being
dismissed and replaced by Swiss private security staff
from a branch of K2 in Genoa. The whole operation had
been sewn up in little over fifteen minutes.
Led by the remaining company security guards,
Johno’s party walked quickly down the stairs, two floors,
and to the boardroom where the majority of the existing
board now sat assembled, Pepi sat at the head of the table
in the chairman’s seat.

148

Carrying a briefcase, Johno walked slowly around the
large desk, taking in the faces of the men, circling the
table once as Claus stood to one side. As Johno came back
around he earned some odd stares for his meandering
stroll. He stopped next to Pepi. ‘You appear to be in my
seat.’
Pepi stared up, smiling menacingly, easing up and
moving to a vacant chair.

‘Thomas,’ Johno called.

Thomas walked over and sat in the chair, spinning it
once as the board observed.

Johno eased down opposite Pepi and clicked open his

briefcase. ‘Do you all speak English?’ he asked. They
nodded, Pepi remain silent. Johno closed the lid of the
briefcase and rested his arms on it. ‘I’d like to talk, nay
negotiate, only with those who are part of a group that
opposes my organisation.’ He waited.

Pepi fiddled with his cigar.
‘Feel free to light it if you wish, sir,’ Johno offered,

Pepi surprised by the offer, the tone and the salutation.

Pepi turned his head and asked five men of the nine

present if they would not mind waiting outside for ten
minutes. The men filed out, Johno’s briefcase camera
filming those remaining. When the door closed Johno
again opened the file and retrieved the solitary remaining
Basel file, sliding the dirty old file across to his rival.

Pepi knew what it was immediately, a glance at his

colleagues. ‘And just what, Herr Director, would you like
me to do … with that?’
‘Destroy it if you like, we have the rest,’ Johno
offered.

Again Pepi glanced at the other men. ‘Then you are in

a… powerful position. The Swiss Government must be
happy.’

149

‘They don’t know,’ Johno pointedly answered. ‘The
files were shipped out, now being held outside
Switzerland. As is the treasure.’
Pepi slowly nodded to himself. ‘So, they were buried
together after all.’
‘And Gunter never found them.’ Johno eased up,
taking gold Templar coins from his pocket and handing
them to the Basel members.
Pepi picked up and examined a coin. ‘Of course
Gunter never found them, or he would have made
problems for us. And what will you do with them?’
Johno eased back into his chair. ‘Sell them to you, if
you like.’
‘And why, knowing what they are and what they are
worth, would you do that?’

‘Because you morons have me all wrong!’

Pepi blinked, straightening.

‘I’m here to chat to you, to try and resolve any
differences we have. That doesn’t mean we join forces and
take long hot showers together.’ Again Pepi blinked. ‘It
means that we avoid each other, whilst respecting the
distance between us. You have your interests, we have
ours.’
Thomas pressed a button on the desk phone. ‘Can I
have some lemonade, please. And some ice-cream.’

Pepi suppressed a laugh at Thomas.

‘I wouldn’t laugh at him,’ Johno cautioned. ‘He’s the
new chairman of the board.’
Claus stepped across and handed Pepi a legal
document, nominating Thomas as chairman.

‘And that has been verified in court and lodged,’ Johno

informed the group. ‘Be in all the papers today, complete
with his photo.’
‘Sit up straight,’ Thomas told the Basel members,
Claus closing his eyes for a moment.

150

‘You … have a strange sense of humour,’ Pepi told
Johno, a dangerous stare as Thomas span in the chair.
‘You make a mockery of this company.’
‘It is mine, unless you want it back. Of course, if I
stay, our forensic accountants will go through …
everything.’
‘What is it you want, Herr Johno?’ Pepi finally
demanded.
‘Simple. I want to address your top-table, then to
negotiate a peace. If that’s acceptable, we sign our voting
rights back to you and leave. We also hand over the rest of
those files, and some of the treasure, say … thirty
percent.’

Pepi was taken by surprise, easing back and facing his

colleagues.

Johno’s phone rang. He lifted it. ‘Yeah?’

‘Sir, the Head of the French DGSE will be in Zug in
one hour.’

‘OK, I’m flying straight back.’ He stood.

‘Problems?’ Pepi coyly asked.

‘French Government not happy about something. I
think they want the Templar treasure back.’
Pepi

shrugged.

‘Maybe

you should give it to them.’

‘Maybe I’ll give it all to you, if we negotiate.’

Pepi stood, clearly puzzled by many things.

Johno lifted his briefcase. ‘Thomas is in charge, and he

has some ideas on global expansion … and clever ice-
cream making machines.’
Johno led Claus out of the boardroom, back up to the
helicopter pad, leaving the five Basel members staring at
Thomas as he span in the chair.

151

Helen grabbed Johno by the arm in the castle foyer, an
angered look. ‘Where the hell is Thomas? You left him
there!’
Johno offered her two flat hands. ‘His idea. Quite a
good one at that.’ She glared at him, waiting. ‘Look, he’s
got his special Gameboy and a satellite tracker, he’ll be …
just as safe as he is wandering around this place.’

She turned and stormed off, Johno and Claus following

her towards command centre, uneasy glances exchanged.

In Helen’s office they found Otto, Helen and Beesely

sat opposite two new faces, Blaum sat alongside the
guests. Unlike the meeting that morning with the French
Ambassador Johno now took the time to greet both men, a
firm handshake and a welcome in French. The visitors
already had refreshments, so Johno sat without ordering
more, Claus closing the door.
‘The files you need, are there,’ Otto informed Johno,
pointing at a group of files and papers. ‘I prepared the
documents myself, no one else … has the detail.’
Johno opened the folder and glanced at the contents,
closing it and offering the visitors cold, formal smiles. ‘So,
who do we have visiting us today?’
The first man, dressed in a formal dark-blue suit and
appearing to Johno to be in his early fifties, identified
himself as Claude Ronson, the French Interior Minister
himself. The second man, dressed in a more casual blazer
and looking far more weather-beaten, introduced himself
as Philippe Golon – no position of employment offered.
Johno took a breath and a glance at Beesely, who
seemed concerned at what Johno might say or do.
‘Gentlemen, let us get straight to the point, so that we
don’t waste your valuable time. Do you have weak
hearts?’

The French were puzzled.

‘Weak … hearts?’ Ronson repeated.

152

‘If I tell you something … very shocking, will it affect

your hearts?’ Johno slowly and carefully asked.

The French again glanced at each other and at Blaum.

‘I do not believe so,’ Ronson firmly stated in a mildly
impatient tone.
‘Good then. So, just to give you a chance to surprise
me, why are you here, gentlemen?’
Ronson eased forwards slightly. ‘We are here because
you have formally accused the French Government of …
further attempts to either attack a Swiss banking facility or
to harm you and your staff. Given previous … oversights
on our behalf, relations with the Swiss have been set back.
We are also here because it would … appear that two of
your staff were murdered, then dropped from a helicopter
onto the offices of the DGSE, Paris.’
‘No

appeared about it,’ Johno stated. ‘They tried to

kill us, we tortured and killed them, then dropped them in
Paris to get your attention.’
Both of the French straightened, clearly astonished,
and concerned at what they were hearing. Blaum sat
quietly, hoping he would survive this day with his job –
and Franco-Swiss relations - in tact.
‘We cannot simply ignore such a claim, nor can we
avoid reporting this matter to the police and courts both in
France and Switzerland,’ Ronson insisted.

‘No, you won’t report it,’ Johno confidently told them,

shaking his head.
‘And

just

why … would we not do that?’ Golon asked.

Johno took the first photograph from the file. Without
looking up he said, ‘I asked you before if you had weak
hearts.’
He glanced at Claus, who stood and took the
photograph, handing it to Ronson. Johno gave them a
moment to look at it.

Finally, Ronson lifted his head. ‘What is this?’

153

‘That’s the boat, the Nan King, which exploded in
Portsmouth, killing - in total – eight hundred people,
sinking the Ark Royal. You’ll notice the name has been
changed. But, with a boat of that size, you can easily
match it to the Lloyd’s Register. These days they have
photographs to stop fraud.’
‘Why are you showing us this?’ Golon asked, now
holding the A4 black and white photograph.
Johno handed a second A4 photograph to Claus, who
handed it over. Ronson held the two photographs next to
each other. Clearly, it was the same ship. After a moment
they both looked back to Johno.
‘If you check the background of the second photo,
you’ll just be able to identify where she took on board the
explosives.’
Golon lifted the photograph to his eye, focusing on a
signpost, clearly French. ‘She put into a French port?’ he
questioned, surprised, but not concerned. ‘When?’
‘Two days before she exploded,’ Johno quietly stated,
a firm stare at Golon.
Ronson stared hard at Johno, his mouth inching down
millimetre by millimetre.
Johno handed another two photographs to Claus,
clearly showing Marseille in the background. Now both
Golon and Ronson breathed quickly, glancing at the
photographs, Ronson licking his dry lips.
Ronson finally faced Johno. ‘You –’ He glanced at
Helen. ‘- and British Secret Service are certain that this
ship, under a false name, stopped in Marseille?’
Johno pursed his lips, lifted his eyebrows and nodded
mockingly.
Minister Ronson announced, ‘Then, after due
investigation, the French Government may have a great
apology to make to the British people for allowing this
ship to dock undetected. This could cost many people their
jobs ... and be devastating news for our two countries.’

154

Johno eased forwards, resting his arms on the desk. He

studied Ronson for a moment, before lifting another group
of pages. ‘I asked you before if you had a weak heart,
Minister.’ He laid out the photographs on the edge of the
desk, four in a line, close-ups taken with a telescopic lens
of two men talking with port officials. ‘Those two men,
arranging the delivery of nine tonnes commercial grade
explosive, are both DGSE – we have the proof.’

Johno waited for it to sink in, Blaum just as shocked as

his French counterparts. Beesely, Otto and Helen all sat
with the heads lowered, offering no comment.

Ronson and Golon sat mesmerised by the photographs,

Johno watching them shift and squirm, Ronson’s face
reddening and Golon swallowing rapidly. Both of the
French had to know that the very least that this news
would do would be to get them both sacked.
That was before they factored in DGSE agents being
involved with the Portsmouth explosion. That could
clearly lead to allegations of criminal neglect, if not
conspiracy, and the fall out with the British, Europe and
the rest of the world would be devastating for French
prestige, and their economy.
Golon’s resolve stiffened. ‘No one … in the French
Security Services, would have assisted terrorists planning
an attack on England.’ Ronson nodded his agreement with
that statement as Golon spoke.
‘Well then, gentlemen, first things first,’ Johno loudly
stated. He handed over a page detailing Mr Frieserling’s
particulars, complete with a small photograph of him in
the corner, second a page on the nurse. ‘Those are the two
people who … landed in Paris.’

He turned to Otto, who now clicked commands with a

computer’s mouse. The screen facing the French came to
life, part of the torture of Frieserling where he stated the
names and details of his contacts.

155

Morbidly curious, the French watched for a minute
before Otto cut the images, Johno handing over to Golon a
page of detail, the detail that Frieserling had given up.
Johno explained, ‘That’s the information he gave us,
and we’ve already checked it. You, Mister Golon, are
welcome to check it again at your leisure … if you wish.’
A nod towards Claus and the senior manager stepped
out, returning and dragging a chair across, facing the
French. Bound and gagged, a man in a crumpled suit was
led in by two troopers, the man’s face bruised, his lip and
eye cut. The troopers shoved him into the seat and stood
behind, hands on the man’s shoulders after releasing his
gag.
Golon recognised the man, a flurry of questions in
French. For the most part Golon seemed outraged by one
of his staff being treated in this manner, as Johno fully
expected.
Ronson stood. ‘What is the meaning of this? You
kidnapped this man?’
‘He,’ Johno calmly stated, ‘was the handler of the Mr
Frieserling and his associate. On the sheet you have you’ll
see the contact information Frieserling had for this man –
your man. Including, when and where he was recruited …
and where he attended training courses in France.’
Golon again exchanged a flurry with his subordinate,
this time the trussed prisoner simply looking away and
refusing to answer. Roson joined in the questioning, not
getting any answers; the French finally making eye
contact, their concerned etched into the faces.
Johno made eye contact with Claus, a signal given.
Claus stepped out again, signalling someone forwards,
before dragging around two more chairs and placing them
next to the prisoner. Two more men were dragged in, both
of these dressed only in loose-fitting overalls, barefoot and
clearly tortured. The troopers dumped their two charges

156

into the chairs, the men semi-conscious and suffering from
the effects of the torture.
Golon recognised the men from the photographs,
stepping across and rapidly demanding answers in French.
He did not get any.
Johno eased up and stood in front of the prisoners.
Facing the semi-conscious men he said, ‘If you tell the
truth you can leave here today with the French Minister.’
He eased back against the desk and folded his arms.

The prisoner sat closest to Johno eased his head around

to Golon, focusing his good eye, the other swollen. ‘We
work for the Basel Freemason Group,’ he said in French.
Johno sat back down, ordering fresh drinks. Looking
up and addressing the French he said, ‘Gentlemen, please,
have a seat.’
The French sat, clearly stunned and staring intently at
their countrymen.
Johno explained, ‘We’ve traced the explosives, also
French, donated by a senior member of The Basel
Freemason Group. And, gentlemen, the Italian part of
Basel must have known that if this ever got out it would be
the French that got the blame, not them.
‘We, K2, along with British Intelligence and the
British Government, have enough evidence for a solid
case, and we’re collecting more all the time. We also have
the secret files that the Basel group have been searching
for these past forty odd years, files that show a great deal
of corruption at the heart of the European Union involving
former French Ministers and French Companies;
corruption, tax evasion, bribery and murder. It would
obviously be very difficult for you … should that find its
way to the courts and newspapers.’
Ronson and Golon stared back as drinks were brought
in, Johno ordering the prisoners removed. With the door
closed the room fell eerily quiet.

157

Golon finally said, in a less than confident voice, ‘Can

we interrogate these men further?’
Johno handed over three CDs of the interviews so far.
‘It’s all on there. If you want more, you can talk to them
here.’
Ronson took a big breath. ‘When you invited us here,
you knew all this.’ He glanced at Blaum. ‘We came …
under a false pretext.’ Johno nodded his admission. ‘So
what is your … agenda?’ Ronson pressed.
‘Quite simple really. To find the people behind these
terrorist attacks, and deal with them in a way that means
Britain does not go to war with France.’
‘The Basel Group are too well connected,’ Golon
suggested. ‘Too well embedded.’
‘Leave

them … to us,’ Johno confidently suggested,

gesturing towards the drinks placed down for the French,
but not touched yet. The guests lifted their drinks, sipping
silently for many seconds.

‘We … will not survive this,’ Ronson softly stated.
Helen looked away, those words a painful reminder of

her own circumstances. Beesely noticed, closing in and
placing a hand on her arm.
Johno lifted his gaze to Claus, who had remained
standing throughout. Claus stepped to the desk and began
tearing up the photographs and sheets, Johno tearing up
the remainder of the file, Claus finally taking back the
CDs and braking them over the side of the desk, all
curiously observed by the French, heavy frowns at this
odd action.
‘If you co-operate with us, gentlemen, you’ll survive,’
Johno suggested.
‘Co-operate … how?’ Golon enquired, suspicious of
the statement.
‘We have a common enemy, and we have a common
goal,’ Johno began. ‘We both want to rid ourselves of the
Basel Group, to find and punish those responsible for

158

terrorist acts and, more importantly, to prevent it from
happening again.’
‘Why did Basel get involved with this business?’
Golon asked, a pained expression.
‘The UK Government threatened to send in forensic
accountants to investigate all EU contracts, going back to
the start of the EU.’

Golon and Ronson glanced at each other, slight shrugs.

Johno continued, ‘They were behind the radioactive
dirty bomb attacks, meant as a warning for the British
Government to back off. They also had a hand in the rogue
CIA element that attacked us, making use of French
gangs. Again, you would have got the blame, which I
guess you did to a certain extent.’
Ronson breathed in. ‘As you say, we have common
goals. But are you saying that you –’ He gestured towards
Helen. ‘- and British Intelligence will suppress this
evidence?’
John eased forwards, resting his elbows on the desk
and interlacing his fingers. ‘We, and the British
Government, have no desire to destroy the economy of
Europe,’ he emphatically stated. ‘We’re also the holders of
this evidence. The only other people to know everything
are Basel, and they’re not going to incriminate themselves.
By time we’ve finished burying the evidence there’ll only
be memories left – nothing tangible. That … we’ll work
very hard at.’ He waited, a sideways glance at Helen.
Ronson sipped his coffee, his features brightening.
‘We will co-operate with you in every capacity - civil, the
security services … and our military. You will have the
fullest co-operation possible.’
Johno eased back, a glance at Blaum before he again
faced Minister Ronson. ‘You may wish to distance
yourselves from us, we’re about to go to war with the
Basel Group. We may not survive and we may end up in
the newspapers.’

159

‘And this … war –’ Ronson began.

‘Will break a lot of laws,’ Johno finished off.

Ronson spoke with his head lowered. ‘Considering
what has happened, and what is at stake, you have my full
co-operation.’ Now he lifted up. ‘Regardless. If this …
evidence is all true, which I suspect it is, and we do
nothing, we will make this problem worse for France –
each day that passes.’
Golon offered, ‘What we know about Basel will be
here in the morning. If you need any logistical support –’
‘Probably best you let us get on with it, that way no
chance of any leaks,’ Johno firmly suggested. ‘When we
act, you’ll know it’s us.’ He shrugged. ‘After that, if we’re
still alive, try if you can to contain things in France, play
up the corruption and conspiracy stuff, blame the fucking
Italians. But please, when you leave here, don’t discuss
this on the phone, or to anyone that doesn’t need to know.
If it leaks to the newspapers …’ He finished with a large
Gallic shrug.
The French stood. Golon offered, ‘I will send you
Pascal, who visited here before. He will be your liaison,
should you need it.’ He placed down a business card.
Ronson faced Blaum, who had followed the French to
their feet. ‘You have carried a heavy burden by the sounds
of it. If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to
contact me.’
They shook. Johno walked around, firm handshakes
for the visitors before Claus showed them out. Blaum
closed the door, standing with his back to it as he held the
handle. He took in the faces.
Beesely motored himself around to Blaum. ‘Do you
still have any doubts about who should be sat in that seat?’
‘None,’ Blaum said with a smile. ‘He is – as you
English say – a chip off the old block.’
‘Damn right,’ Beesely affirmed. ‘And I’m more
surprised than you are!’

160

Blaum waved collectively at the room before stepping
out and closing the door.

Otto stood, letting out a long and heavy sigh. He faced

Johno. ‘I could not have done that, nor do I think I would
have tried such a method. I am … beginning to learn my
limitations.’ He stepped out, Johno grabbing a beer from
the fridge.

Swivelling to face Helen Johno said, ‘Went OK then?’

‘As Otto just said, I don’t think I could have done
that.’

‘Nonsense, you’re much better at this stuff than I am,’

Johno insisted.
Beesely motored around. ‘Helen, you’re used to doing
things in a conventional sense. Johno sees people and
objectives, not countries and departments - simple, but
effective. And the French never had any choice at the end
of the day, their objectives are the same as ours. We
needed to give them just the right evidence in just the right
way, leading them to a heart stopping moment of theatrics.
And for that Johno deserves a bleeding Oscar!’

‘He is full of surprises,’ Helen admitted. ‘I had no idea

that was about to happen.’

‘All his idea,’ Beesely insisted.

Claus stepped back in. ‘They have taken the bait.’

‘Bait?’ Beesely queried.

‘They’ve kidnapped Thomas,’ Johno explained, none
too concerned, raising a flat palm to Beesely. ‘And before
you ask, his idea.’ He turned to Claus. ‘Tracker working?’
‘Yes, sir. And we have received several messages.
They are heading towards Rome.’

The desk phone came to life. ‘Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s a Senor Pepi for you.’

‘Good, put him through.’

‘Herr Director?’ came a mocking tone.

‘This is he. That you, Mister Pepi?’

161

‘Of

course.’

‘Well? Do I get to negotiate?’

‘You have not asked about your boy.’

‘To tell you the truth, I’d forgotten all about him.’

‘Vanker’ could be heard in the background.

‘He is safe and well, not kidnapped, just accompanying

us to the meeting to save him travelling back and forth.’
‘Good idea. You fix a meet, next couple of days, let
me know.’
Pepi paused at that, the suggestion of Thomas held by
them for a few days. ‘We are preparing a meeting for
tonight. Is Midnight OK with you?’

‘Midnight is fine, I’ll be coming alone.’

‘Fly to Rome and wait for my call, but be in Rome
before 11pm.’

‘Sure. When in Rome.’

‘When in Rome … what?’

‘That’s the saying, when in Rome.’

Pepi paused again. ‘Yes, but when in Rome … do
what?’

‘Be there on time.’

Another pause came from Pepi’s end. ‘I will call later.’

The line went dead.

‘When in Rome…?’ Helen repeated.

‘You had me there as well,’ Beesely suggested.

‘It’s … er … a code, just me an Thomas know.’

‘Oh,’ Helen let out, a deep ridge creasing her brow.
‘For a minute there I thought you were just rambling on a
pile of manure.’

‘They’ll find the bugs on Thomas,’ Beesely cautioned.

‘Know it’s a set-up.’
‘First, grandpa, these bugs are extra special. They’re
totally dormant electronically till he stamps his foot, then a
short burst, untraceable. If they scan him … nothing.
Second, his Gameboy has been modified. They can scan

162

all day, take it apart – won’t be noticed unless you’re the
frigging expert from hell!’
He tapped the desk phone. ‘There’s a Basel top table
meeting tonight, somewhere near Rome. I want all
passenger manifests from twelve-noon today till midnight
heading that way, agents on the Italian border logging
everyone.’
‘Yes,

sir.’

‘They took the bait,’ Beesely repeated. ‘If the top table

meet then we’ve got them, by God!’
Johno nodded before raising a vertical finger, a coy
smile breaking across his face.

‘What?’ Helen asked.

Johno turned and tapped the desk phone. ‘Oliver
Stanton.’ They waited ten seconds.

‘Hello?’ came Stanton’s rich voice.

‘Mister Stanton, Johno, got some good news.’

‘Yeah,

what’s

that?

‘Just had a big meeting with the French, their Interior
Minister himself and the head of the DGSE.’

‘That can’t have been pretty. What’s the good news?’

‘They’re on board.’

‘On

board?’

‘They’re just as pissed-off with Basel as us, and now
that they know their in the dock for helping with the
attacks on the UK can’t be helpful enough. They’re
sending a top liaison guy, offered us full support of the
their entire intelligence services, army and anything else
we like. Talk about lots of co-operation afterwards, closer
links, them having a say in what we do. Bleeding
marvellous.’

Beesely grinned to himself, noticed by Helen.

‘Well … that’s … good news. Did you broker this
deal, or Beesely?’

‘Not me!’ Beesely shouted. ‘The boy did it all himself.

French falling over themselves to help out.’

163

‘Maybe they have their own agenda,’ Stanton
cautioned.

‘Doubt it,’ Johno countered with. ‘And with them right

on the border, might just survive this fight.’

‘They’ll help? Directly?’

‘Yep, shooting war starts soon, they’re waiting for
their part of the list.’
‘Christ, Johno. That’ll put it out in the open, with the
French having a hold over you.’

‘Well … K2 is a European operation at heart.’

‘I got some people here, I’ll call you later.’ He cut the

line.

Johno laughed, almost silently.

Beesely shook his head. ‘You, my lad, are a devious
little bag of shit!’

‘I’m lost,’ Helen offered. ‘What’s going on?’

Beesely faced her. ‘He just hinted to Stanton that we’re

about to get into bed with the French, who can’t stand the
Yanks, and that the French may influence K2 in the future.
Right now Olly will be sweating, probably calling a top
table meeting.’
Claus stepped in, a strongly disapproving stare at
Johno before he manipulated the video conferencing
screen, switching it on and selecting CNN. He glared
again at Johno before stepping out.

‘

ABSOLUTE CHOAS TODAY AS THE FABLED

TEMPLAR’S TREASURE HAS BEEN CONFIRMED FOUND IN
NOVA SCOTIA. THE PRESIDENT HAS ALREADY STATED
THAT NO IMMEDIATE ALTERATION WILL BE MADE TO
AMERICAN HISTORY, NOR HOLIDAYS SUCH AS COLUMBUS
DAY

.’

‘Oh dear,’ Johno said with a grin. ‘Vatican won’t be
pleased.’
‘Nor your new friends in the French Government,’
Helen pointed out.

164

‘Why’s this happening today?’ Johno asked with a
furrowed brow. He hit the phone. ‘Why was the Templar
Treasure discovered today, it was supposed to wait?’
‘I believe, sir, that the eminent American geologist
who found it made a mistake in the day required.’
‘Oh, OK.’ He eased back and faced Beesely and
Helen.

‘Be a lot of busy puppies in Rome tonight,’ she pointed

out.
Johno blew out, his shoulder’s dropping. ‘We’re not
ready. Besides, this news will probably run for days.’
‘Weeks!’ Beesely snapped, and unhappy stare at his
offspring.

‘Sir?’ came from the phone.

‘Yes?’

‘Mr Stanton again.’

‘OK, put him through.’

‘Johno, you fucking arsehole!’

‘Who me?’ Johno cut the line. Turning back he
shrugged. ‘Wrong number.’

165

Into the lion’s den

Johno left a detailed plan of action with Beesely and Otto.
He collected his modified shoes, with bounce-activated
tracker, and set-off for Rome.

Cheekily landing on a public highway in the Tivoli

hills, near Villa Adrianna, Johno stepped down from an
Agusta helicopter. He bent double for a few steps before
straightening, taking out a cigarette and lighter and trying
to light-up as several cars slowed, their drivers shocked at
the sight of a helicopter in the road.
The Agusta took off immediately, Johno ambling to
the gates of a large villa that the inconvenienced drivers
had been heading toward. Stopping at the first guard, the
man looking both surprised and annoyed at the
unscheduled helicopter landing, he explained who he was.
The guard stared back for a moment then lifted his radio.

Pepi was taken to one side, away from the men gathering,
an aid whispering in his ear. ‘Here?’ he asked, the aid
nodding.

The road up to the villa looked a long way, Johno flagging
down the first vehicle, opening a door and slipping in
without being invited to.
‘Hey there, how you doing? You off to the big secret
meet?’

‘You … are English?’ the passenger puzzled.

‘Johno. Herr Director, K2.’

The passenger glanced at the man in the front seat,
who was now fully swivelled around and faced Johno as
the car sped along a driveway lined with olive trees.

‘So, what’s your name then?’ Johno lightly asked.

166

‘I believe, Herr Johno, that we will discuss formal
introductions at the meeting,’ the unhappy passenger
insisted.

Johno made a face. ‘Please yourself, grumpy.’

They sat in silence the minute it took to reach the villa,

numerous guards awaiting the arrival of the vehicle. Johno
eased out, taking a leisurely drag as he studied the large
villa. Stepping across the gravel driveway the guards
closed in. If they were armed, they were not overtly
displaying their weapons.
‘This way … sir,’ the first guard unhappily offered,
leading Johno to a side entrance.
When they reached the door Johno asked,
‘Tradesman’s entrance?’
The guard did not understand, he and his colleagues
keeping their distance as they gestured their unwelcome
guest inside. Stepping inside Johno was welcomed by a
stunningly beautiful women; mid-twenties, tall and with
long hair, curled at the ends, now wearing a simple black
dress that both highlighted and revealed her figure.

‘Yeah, baby. How you doing?’

Maria blinked, offering him a disapproving frown.
‘Herr Johno, you are – I believe – in a relationship with an
… older woman, who is married.’
Johno laughed, knowing full well that his phone was
on continuous transmit, wondering what Helen’s face
would be like right about now as she sat in her office.
‘Please,’ Maria coldly offered, gesturing to another
room.
Johno stepped into an ornately and richly decorated
drawing room, one side a continuous row of bookshelves,
floor to ceiling, the opposite side a continuous wall of
purple curtains. Sat behind a large, deep red veneered desk
was Pepi, Cardinal Ramon off to one side.
Johno stepped to the desk. ‘Cardinal. How’re you on
this fine evening?’

167

The door clicked shut, two guards stood just inside, the

young lady never having stepped in.
Ramon eased upright, a neutral expression for Johno.
‘Wondering why the world believes that the Templar
treasure is in Nova Scotia.’
Johno pulled over a chair and sat, laughing as he
glanced at the books on the desk in front of him. ‘Least I
could do to piss you off. But don’t worry, it’s only four
boxes.’
Pepi cut the end off a fresh cigar. ‘Quite an expensive
joke.’
‘I can afford it,’ Johno replied, still focussed on
Cardinal Ramon. ‘But don’t worry, the French have all the
religious stuff we found in there.’

Ramon’s features turned sullen. ‘You gave them to the

French?’
Johno shrugged, making a face. ‘They were nicked by
the Nazis during the war, from France, so now they got
them back.’
‘Not quite correct,’ Ramon informed Johno. ‘Many of
the items were already buried in Switzerland and Austria,
found during the war and hidden in Switzerland at the
close of the war.’
‘And did any catholic priests help the Nazis find
them?’ Johno pointedly enquired.
Ramon sighed. ‘I believe, Johno, that you like to ask
questions when you already know the answers.’
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ Johno admitted. ‘I saw the priest
in Shue’s cave.’
Pepi had lit his cigar, and now puffed out a fragrant
pawl of smoke. ‘I won’t ask how you knew about this
place.’

‘You can ask any question you like, me old mucker. As

you … probably already know, we grabbed some of your
security guards today and yesterday, gave them the chair–’
He turned a notch to Ramon. ‘- as we did with Molarini.’

168

Ramon did not react.

Pepi took a long drag. ‘And why – if you wish to
negotiate with us – would you do such a thing?’
‘I like to have the upper hand when I’m negotiating.
Bit of a crap negotiator,’ he toyed. ‘So I need all the help I
can get.’
Pepi carefully studied his early guest. ‘And do you
believe that you hold all the aces in this game?’
‘I have a very good hand,’ Johno came back with, a
confident and dangerous look for Pepi.
‘Would you mind handing over your gun and phone
before we go any further?’
‘Not at all.’ Johno stood, placing down his phone and
then reaching in and taking out his pistol, noting Pepi’s
momentary reaction.

Pepi put them both in a drawer, locking them in before

easing up. ‘There are jammers on the roof, so no bugs will
work. Still, we would prefer a private meeting – if you do
not object?’
He waved the guards forwards, who gave Johno a
cursory frisk before running two humming electric
scanners up and down him, Johno being careful not to put
too much pressure on his left foot. The guards eventually
nodded at Pepi and withdrew.
Pepi walked around the desk, Cardinal Ramon
following. He took a long draw on his cigar. ‘You must
think you are in a very strong position, allowing yourself
to be taken?’
Johno eased his face closer to his host. ‘This game
would be no fun if I just came out and told you everything,
now would it?’
Pepi puzzled the oddly playful attitude Johno was
presenting, gesturing his very early guest towards the
door. In the corridor Thomas walked casually along, not
reacting to seeing Johno and holding a plate full of
savoury snacks.

169

‘Stuffing ya’ face again?’ Johno asked.

Thomas shrugged. ‘When we going, I’m bored with
this lot.’
Johno hid a smile, Pepi offering the boy an unfriendly
stare.
‘He … is a very rude and presumptuous young man!’
Pepi stated.
‘He’s the chairman of the board,’ Johno reminded
them. ‘And that’s official.’
Maria re-appeared, gesturing Johno towards a door, a
chorus of muddled conversations coming from within.
They all stepped inside.
This new room was bisected by a long thin table, big
enough for perhaps twenty people, Johno guessed,
fourteen seats arranged around it at the moment. The
assembled guests stood in groups talking, holding plates
and being served snacks and drinks by yet more beautiful
girls, guards tucked discreetly into corners. The
overlapping conversations quickly dissipated, people now
facing Johno as he wondered if they were showing respect
for Pepi or Ramon, or fear and indignation for himself.
Johno waved at them. ‘Don’t mind me, you carry on
enjoying yourselves – I’m early. If I was Swiss I’d be on
time!’
As Pepi spoke to his guests, in three different
languages, Johno helped himself to a plate of food,
Thomas pointing out tasty items. When Thomas looked up
Johno turned to find Cardinal Diaz, less his robes, now
dressed in a loose-fitting suit. Without a word, Diaz
handed Johno a glass of white wine.
‘Thanks, mate,’ Johno offered, downing the white
wine in one go. ‘Nice enough.’
Diaz features moved from unhappy, to surprised, to
amused in just a second. ‘Could have been poison.’
‘And we could have poisoned you at the castle – but
where’s the fun in that?’

170

Diaz studied Johno for several seconds, an odd look as

he tried to figure out many things, before turning away
and standing next to Ramon.
‘He’s Cardinal Ramon’s bodyguard,’ Johno told
Thomas before sampling more food, Thomas agreeing
with a nod.
The assembled Basel members started to seat
themselves, placing down their drinks, most keeping a
careful eye on Johno. When the group had settled Johno
walked forwards, Thomas following, and to the only seat
left vacant, the left hand of Pepi.
Cardinal Ramon, however, sat off to one side, clearly
not part of the group. Diaz sat behind him. Johno eased
down, a playful wave and smile for those staring at him.
‘Gentlemen,’

Pepi

called. ‘We shall conduct this

meeting in English for the benefit of our guest.’
Johno offered the group ‘It’s nice to meet you all’ in
Italian, German, French and Russian.
Pepi smiled widely. ‘We are here, brothers –’ Pepi
slipped. ‘- gentlemen, at the request of Herr Johno, owner
of the International Bank of Zurich … and, of course, K2.
Herr Johno wishes to address this group, and negotiate. Of
what is to be negotiated remains … open.’
Thomas dragged a chair noisily across, plonking it
down next to Johno and placing his plate of food on the
table.

Johno made room for him before noticing Pepi’s look.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, my turn to speak?’ Pepi tipped his head.
Johno stood. ‘I can’t see you all sitting down, so I’ll stand
if you don’t mind. And also if you do mind … brothers.’
He stepped around the table, pointing and naming
seven of the twelve, causing some concerned looks.
‘Afraid I can’t remember the names of the rest of you, I’m
not that good with foreign names.’ As he circled he noted
some unhappy glances toward Pepi from the named
guests.

171

‘We’re here tonight brothers because we all know that

our two organisations have … traditionally opposed each
other. If that had been known to me earlier on then we
would have had this meeting earlier on. Gunter is dead,
Beesely is not well and now I’m in charge. And … I have
the files, those that were hidden with the Templar’s
treasure.’

He let it sink in as he patrolled around the table. Back

at his original seat he poured himself a drink, resuming his
patrol with the glass in his hand and continuing to step
heavily with his left foot.

Otto looked up from the computer screen on Helen’s desk.
‘He is walking in a small circle, three metres radius.’
‘That’s the signal that he’s negotiating,’ Beesely
stated.

‘So,’ Johno began. ‘What would you like done with those
files, brothers?’
None of the ‘brothers’ made a comment; they
remained guarded.

‘I think, Herr Johno, they would wish them destroyed,’

Pepi said with an amused glint.
‘Good job then that I’ve already destroyed them,’
Johno offered with a smirk as he walked around the table.
Pepi did not react. The members, however, glanced at
each other and exchanged whispered comments.

‘It is true,’ Pepi informed the surprised group. ‘He did

destroy them.’
Johno worked hard not react himself, wondering what
else Pepi already knew. They didn’t know about his early
arrival, or the master plan. Or so it seemed at the moment.
He smiled confidently at Pepi, countering, and wiping out,
Pepi’s prior confident smile.

172

‘You destroyed the files?’ a member asked. ‘Why?’

‘Why

you think?’ Johno posed.

Pepi confidently suggested, ‘You have shares in most
of the companies that would be affected.’
‘Correct. We’re a bank and an investment company.
Wouldn’t be very good at our jobs if we harmed the
companies we deal shares in.’
‘You could have made copies!’ a German man
growled.
‘Again, we’d be harming ourselves,’ Johno offered
with a shrug. ‘And your spies in K2 know that we
destroyed them without copying them.’ He stopped and
faced Pepi, waiting.

‘It is correct,’ Pepi informed the group.

‘Then you have given up a valuable bargaining chip,’
another member noted, a French accent.

‘Not always a good idea, brothers, to hold a gun to the

head of those you wish to become friends with.’

Maria knocked and entered, a note for Pepi. As he read

it Johno checked his watch. 11.20pm. Pepi finally looked
up, his daughter remaining.

Johno’s ambling path around the table now took him to

her. ‘You haven’t told me your name.’
‘I am surprised you don’t know,’ she told him, a less
than welcoming expression.

‘Like I said, crap with names.’

‘Maria,’ Thomas said, his mouth full of food.

She glanced at Thomas. ‘Your boy has some bad
habits, which – I understand – you encourage.’

Johno offered her a wide smile and a large shrug.

‘You were saying,’ Pepi encouraged. ‘Something
about holding a gun to your friend’s heads?’
Johno faced the table. ‘If you gentlemen are serious
about reaching an accommodation, then so are we at K2.
And by that I mean me … at K2. The Swiss Government
have had a standoff with you lot for forty years, so another

173

twenty years won’t matter. And, in those twenty years, if
we can save some money by scaling down our security
levels, then that would be prudent.’
‘And are you here because you are concerned that the
attempts to kill you will soon succeed,’ an elderly Italian
man pointedly asked.
‘None of those attempts - the assassins I mean - were
your people, despite what anyone may have claimed.’

Several men moved their eyes towards Pepi, noticed by

Johno.
‘Many of those attempts were Vatican in origin, the
most recent were French Secret Service … not you!’ He
waited, wondering what Pepi would reveal; if anything.
The group’s smug host did not reveal anything about
the French, the meeting with the French Minister still a
mystery to them. Johno would soon know, a glance at
Thomas, who now checked his watch.
‘You check your watches a lot,’ Diaz noted from the
rear, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Johno faced him. ‘Swiss, you see. Very punctual.’

‘You, however, are English,’ Pepi pointed out. ‘And
the little show of force you tried to arrange with the
American Air Force here … has been cancelled by our
friends in the Italian Government.’
Johno did not miss a beat, the dangerous grin firmly
fixed. ‘It’s good to have friends in high places. Makes you
feel … confident about things.’
‘One minute,’ Thomas reported, just before the villa
started to shake with the roar of jets.
As Diaz ran out, Johno casually poured himself
another wine, a wink for Maria - who now looked far less
confident. Someone had just shown up Pepi in front of her,
and in front of the group.

For a full sixty seconds the villa shook with the roar of

jet aircraft diving in at low throttle, for minimum noise,

174

before pulling up steeply with afterburners for maximum
effect. Finally it was quiet, Johno checking his watch.

‘They were a minute early,’ Thomas complained.

‘Not Swiss,’ Johno offered the lad. He faced the
nervous group. ‘So, where were we. Oh yes.’ He turned
around to face Pepi squarely. ‘You were about to tell me
how … all powerful you are.’ He waited, Pepi glaring up
but offering no response.

Johno walked around his adversary as he spoke, a wink

at Ramon. ‘As I was saying, we are here to see if we can
fix our differences. I also mentioned earlier that I like to
negotiate from a position of strength.’ He plodded slowly
around the table. ‘That doesn’t mean that you are in any
danger, it just means that you need to be aware that K2 is a
very capable organisation.
‘As with the Russians and Americans during the cold
war, we could do a lot of harm to each other. But, who
would win? We would both spend a great deal of money,
we would both risk all we have.’
‘There is wisdom to that,’ a portly Italian offered, the
man heavily tanned and looking like he had recently
returned from a holiday. Other members agreed, Johno
pleased at the dissent that was building.

He faced Pepi. ‘What do you say, Senor Pepi. Can we

avoid each other? Keep a respectful distance?’
‘I think you will kill us all at the first opportunity,’
Pepi snarled, losing his composure.
Johno checked his watch. ‘Interesting you should say
that.’
The top of a window cracked, a hole appearing in the
ceiling and white plaster snowing down onto the table and
guests. Diaz was on his feet again, opening the door.
‘No!’ Johno shouted at Diaz, a finger pointed directly
at the man. ‘Don’t step outside the villa, you’ll be killed!’
Diaz hesitated. ‘Look from inside.’

175

Diaz disappeared into the corridor as guards went to

the windows, pistols drawn. Some members now stood,
some were under the table already. And Pepi was now
looking the most frightened of them all.
‘Don’t touch the curtains!’ Johno shouted at them.
‘You’ll be shot!’ He faced the assembled top table. ‘Stay
in your seats, you will not be harmed.’
‘What is this?’ Pepi roared, regaining some of his
composure.
‘What it is, is what you said. You said … I’d kill you
at the first opportunity. Well, this is the first opportunity,
and you know what … I’m not going to kill you.’

Diaz burst back in a minute later as Johno tried, and

failed, to make ‘small talk’ with Maria. ‘The guards
outside are dead, all the chauffeurs, and the dogs in the
rear. They’re all dead.’
A chorus of overlapping concerned complaints filled
the air behind Johno as he focused on Diaz. ‘You took my
advice.’
Diaz forced a deep breath. ‘Why? Why stop me? I
would have been killed.’
‘A man of your quality shouldn’t die like that. At the
very least, you should have the chance to fight.’
Diaz and Johno exchanged looks, slight nods, a
message exchanged.

Turning back to face the group Johno noted one guard

stood levelling his pistol at him, a second with his pistol to
Thomas’s head, Pepi himself also now holding a gun as
the group expressed their concern, not least in Pepi’s
security arrangements. ‘Everyone relax,’ Johno offered,
waving men down. ‘You won’t be harmed.’
‘We should not be in a situation where we could be
harmed!’ a man protested, towards Pepi and not Johno.
‘Please, gentlemen,’ Johno called, finally giving up
and sipping his drink. He sat and waited.

‘What comes next?’ Pepi demanded.

176

‘Outside are two dozen K2 agents,’ Johno informed
him. He checked his watch again. ‘But in a minute’s time
more will land. Get me my phone, I’ll tell them I’m safe.’
After several seconds of indecision Pepi faced Diaz,
throwing him a key, the cardinal’s bodyguard stepping
quickly out.
With his phone returned Johno pressed the green
button. ‘It’s me, everything’s fine. Do not … enter the
villa. Withdraw our people. All … of them.’
The roar of numerous helicopters shook the villa,
dozens passing at low altitude, the effect on the nervous
old men multiplied by the previous fly-by. They waited,
Johno and Pepi playing ‘stare down’, Pepi disadvantaged
by numerous calls to him by the members. Finally it was
quiet again, the drone of helicopters a distance rumble.
Johno suggested, ‘Why don’t you send for more
people. I’ll wait. When they get here you can secure the
area and prove to yourself that none of my people are out
there.’
Pepi stood and stepped out, leaving Johno chatting to
the members, being as reassuring as he could given that he
hated them all and was planning on catching them and
dismembering them.
Pepi returned in a more resilient mood, unwrapping a
fresh cigar, casually cutting the end off and lighting it.
‘Brothers,’ he called. ‘Our associates will be here soon, so
to the police. And I do not believe that Herr Johno would
sacrifice himself and the boy. He is playing a game.’
‘That’s very true, Pepsi,’ Johno responded, his host
frowning slightly at the mispronunciation of his name.
From where he sat Johno swivelled and faced the group.
‘Gentlemen, you will not be harmed, not this night. Pepi is
correct, this is my little game, to let you know what you’re
up against. Pepi stated earlier that I would kill you at the
first opportunity. Well, I could have killed you all tonight.
You need to ask yourselves … why I didn’t.

177

‘The answer is this; I see no point in this conflict. I
inherited this conflict, I didn’t choose it. If you wish to
negotiate, then discuss amongst yourselves, gentlemen,
what we can do to end this. Put some proposals together,
arrange another meeting … somewhere you feel safe.’ He
stood. ‘Thomas.’
Thomas ignored the guard with a pistol aimed at him,
walking around to Johno.

‘We’ll take a car. And Pepsi, if we’re interfered with

then no one … will leave here alive.’ Johno turned. ‘Diaz,
you’re driving us to Rome, just in case there’re any
roadblocks.’
Diaz made eye contact with Pepi, who reluctantly
nodded after a few second’s thought.

‘Very odd,’ Beesely grumbled. ‘Could have taken them all
– all the top table!’
‘It

was the recall message,’ Helen confirmed to the

people assembled in her office.
‘So, something amiss then,’ Beesely puzzled. ‘He saw
something in there.’

‘He must have done,’ Otto suggested.

Claus stepped through the open door. ‘Thomas placed
a bug in the meeting. The signal strength is not great, but
they are talking openly and they do not know about it.’
‘Should get us some excellent intelligence,’ Helen
enthused, straightening and stretching her back.

* * *

Two hours later Johno returned, being informed that Otto
and Beesely were awake and in Beesely’s room. He
knocked and entered. ‘Still up?’

178

‘No, had a nap,’ Beesely informed him, now sat-up in
bed, he and Otto going over files. ‘Why the pull back?’

‘They knew about the American Air Force –’

‘As you predicted,’ Otto cut in with.

Johno lifted his eyebrows. ‘They also knew we
destroyed the files.’

‘Ah,’ Otto let out, ‘not so good. A spy still here.’

‘Not just that. I had a good look at these old men, got a

feel for them. If this lot are the best Basel has to offer then
we deserve to be shot.’

‘Not the top table?’ Beesely assumed.

‘You and Stanton wouldn’t react the way they did.
They were terrified, disorganised. If that lot thought up the
attacks and carried them out … I’m a Chinaman!’

‘Bunch of actors?’ Beesely thought out loud.

‘No, I recognised most of their faces from what we’ve

collected on them. Know what I’m thinking?’ Otto and
Beesely waited. ‘P2.’
‘P2 was disbanded twenty years ago,’ Otto mused.
‘You think maybe –’

‘No, not the same people, but similar modus operandi,’

Johno suggested to Beesely, a knowing look.
‘Ah,’ Beesely let out. ‘Top table thinks it’s the top
table, but is having it’s strings pulled from behind.’
Johno offered a worried nod. ‘And they … ain’t going
to show up on no share register.’

‘Groups within groups,’ Otto glumly repeated.

‘I noticed cameras in the ceiling in the meeting room,
so easy enough for the real power brokers to watch what
was going on. But I did what was expected of me - I acted
out the role - so no problem there.’ He made eye contact
with Otto. ‘Even with lock-down someone got a message
out.’

Otto sighed and lowered his head.

‘We need to triple the search for the spies,’ Johno
suggested. ‘Anyway, need some kip.’

179

One floor down he nodded at the troopers stood guard,
knocking on Helen’s door and waiting for the door to be
unlocked and un-bolted. As soon as he was inside, and the
door locked, she jumped back into the warm bed. He
hurriedly threw off his clothes and slipped in, snuggling
up.

‘Thomas OK?’ she asked.

‘Fine, he loved it. Listen, did you report back to the
UK that we destroyed the files.’

She hesitated. ‘Yes. Why?’

‘A leak. Could be their end.’

She turned over. ‘Unlikely.’

‘If Basel knew they’d have a problem with the Brit’s
then the first thing they’d do would be to try and get
someone in there, or compromise someone over there.’

She sighed. ‘Makes sense.’

‘Tomorrow, send a dummy message, something
specific.’
‘A

trap?’

‘Yep. Tell them … tell them we’re going to take over
two specific companies, pick them out.’
‘If there is a leak, the share price will be forced up,
making it hard for us to acquire the stock.’

‘You’re a clever girl,’ he teased.

‘And you … have cold hands. Not to mention the fact
that you’re in a relationship with an older woman –’ He
laughed. ‘- married and with children.’

He nibbled on her shoulder. ‘And a bony arse!’
She elbowed him. ‘How was Maria’s arse?’
‘Gorgeous! But I go for the intelligent type. Be buying

you a book on military history next week.’

180

“Find the Englander, Beesely”

A heavy knock on the door at 6am and Johno jumped up,
concerned. He slipped on his trousers, already in a t-shirt -
normal for him to sleep in it. With his pistol in his hand he
stopped at the door without opening it. ‘Yeah?’

‘It’s Grey, got a problem.’

Johno unlocked the door, shoving the pistol through
first and checking the faces. ‘Gimme five.’ He slammed
the door.
‘What’s wrong?’ Helen asked, her voice dryer than
normal.
‘Dunno.’ He dressed quickly, checking his pistol and
phone before stepping out.
Grey led him towards the stairs, troopers in tow. ‘We
found, and opened up, another metal door, opposite end of
the treasure chamber – behind a foot of concrete!’
‘And?’

They stepped quickly down the stairs.

‘Bodies,’ Grey informed him. ‘Some British.’

Johno stopped dead, a stunned look for Grey. ‘British!’

Grey nodded, his expression suggesting that there was
something else amiss with the bodies, other than the fact
that they were British, something that would have seemed
impossible considering how the treasure was hidden; and
by whom.

They rushed down the stairs, through the foyer and the

Great Hall, into the courtyard and to the stairwell leading
down. Troopers handed Johno a torch, following behind as
Grey led the way into the chamber. A pearl-string of fixed
lights helped with the illumination, but the floor, ceiling
and walls were so utterly jet black that no light reflected.

‘This second door had been welded shut. Thoroughly!’

Grey reported as they stepped past it. ‘And these bodies

181

are the poor fools who moved the treasure, not knowing
what lay ahead for them.’
Johno illustrated a body with his torch, clearly not as
old as the skeletons he had come across in the Czech
Republic. ‘They weren’t shot, just locked in?’

‘Yep,’ Grey said with a heavy sigh. ‘Three are British,

the rest Swiss or German, IDs on them dating from 1959
up to 1962. One had a ticket dated to 1962, so I guess
that’s when they got … locked in.’
Johno stepped over the bodies, sizing up the small
room, the same size and shape as the filing cabinet room.
‘In here, they probably ran out of air quick.’
‘Fifteen people? Day at best,’ Grey offered. From his
pocket he offered Johno the IDs of the British men. The
first two IDs, a type of paper card, revealed nothing of
interest; both men lived in London. The third identity card
was a shock: Robert Beesely.
Johno slowly lifted his head, making eye contact with
Grey. ‘Who knows –’
‘Just

us.’

‘Everyone out! Close it!’ Johno turned. ‘I’ll be back.’

In the courtyard he met Otto heading towards the
chamber’s entrance. Gesturing Otto to follow he led him
to Beesely’s room. Unlocked, Johno opened the door and
stepped in, finding Beesely sat up in bed. Pointing at the
nurse he curtly said, ‘Out.’
Beesely curiously watched the nurse step quickly out.
With the door closed Johno tossed the faded old ID card
onto Beesely’s bed. He walked to the window, stuffing his
hands in his pockets as he stared out at the misty dawn.

Beesely lifted the card, stunned at finding his brother’s

name on it. He recognised the date of birth, town of birth
and address. ‘Where did you get this?’
Without turning around Johno explained. ‘Off a body
down below, one of the people who moved the Templar
Treasure, and the files, then got killed for their troubles.’

182

He turned, Otto closing in and taking the card. ‘As far I

know your brother died in … what, 1965? A car crash,
wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s …’ Beesely’s words trailed off. ‘The
bodies were badly burnt, no open casket at the funeral. I
identified him … from his possessions.’
‘My God,’ Otto let out in a whisper. ‘Your brother ...
he was involved.’

Johno stepped slowly to the end of the bed. ‘Was your

brother working for British Intelligence or the Lodge?’
Beesely was stunned and confused. ‘What … Robert?
No, he had an antique shop, along with a long list of failed
ventures.’
Johno nodded for a moment as his thought. ‘You said
MI6 approached you, 1950s, wanted you to snuggle up to
old boy Gunter.’

‘I turned them down.’

‘Maybe … Robert didn’t. Maybe, he needed the
money. And with his wife being Gunter’s sister…’
Beesely rubbed his face, taking a moment. ‘If they
used him … used him to get near Gunter, then what the
hell is his body doing downstairs? Gunter never found the
treasure!’
‘I may know,’ Otto quietly offered. ‘There was a
rumour … that Gunter organised the theft of the treasure
and the files, but was betrayed. As you say, double
crossed.’
‘So,’ Johno loudly began, stepping again to the
windows. ‘MI6 sent Robert to snuggle up to Gunter,
Gunter uses him for … for part of the theft, then the
bookkeeper kills them all and fucks over Gunter, hiding
the treasure here, poor old Gunter spending the next forty
years looking for it.’ He turned, facing Beesely, his hands
still in his pockets.

‘My … God,’ Beesely let out, staring down at his bed.

‘They used him.’

183

‘And

anyone in this room surprised by that?’ Johno

scoffed. ‘Would they have cared if I got killed looking for
the files and the list?’
‘British Intelligence has always known?’ Otto
whispered, clearly stunned.
Johno suggested, ‘They probably figured Robert got
caught by Gunter, faked his death.’

‘Is his wife –’ Beesely began.

‘Down there? No,’ Johno informed him, walking
across and handing him the other identity cards.
Beesely lifted the faded cards close to his eyes.
‘Tucker? I knew him!’

‘Was he –’ Johno began.

‘Yes, MI6. At least SOE, during the war, based in
Switzerland in the late 1950’s setting up their P26 unit –
sleeper army ready for a Russian invasion.’
Otto stiffened. ‘Then the British used these men to try
and get the files.’

‘So how did Gunter’s sister die?’ Johno posed.

‘Not naturally!’ Otto suggested.

‘No, she may have survived,’ Beesely suggested.
‘British were never that ruthless. They probably shipped
her off somewhere. Canada or New Zealand was the
norm.’
‘Then let’s hope she died of old age,’ Johno stated.
‘Otherwise, the inheritance…’
‘Christ, yes!’ Beesely let out. ‘If MI6 tracked her
down, and she’s still alive –’
‘All this would be hers, manipulated by them.’ Johno
finished off.
‘She would be ninety … one,’ Otto informed them.
‘So… unlikely.’

‘Bastards,’ Beesely let out in a whisper.

‘War is war,’ Johno scoffed.

184

‘I want his body sent back,’ Beesely told Otto.
‘Discrete burial in the family plot. And these other men.’
He faced Johno. ‘Who else is down there?’
‘Swiss and Germans, fools who helped steal the
treasure and files off the original Basel Group, then got
locked in.’
‘Identify them, then their known associates,’ Beesely
barked. ‘If this lot worked for the original group, they
could identify them.’

Otto turned his head to Johno. ‘On the original list you

found there are seven names hand written on the back.
Faded, but we have the names. And … none of these
people exist – anywhere!’

‘So, that’s them!’ Beesely suggested.

‘No way to identify the fuckers,’ Johno admitted.

‘Use old records, wartime and after, Wehrmacht
records,’ Beesely ran off. ‘Swiss records back then were
good I’m sure, no bomb damage to the records!’

‘I will arrange it,’ Otto offered.

‘This bookkeeper …’ Beesely began.

‘Killed by his own son, a catholic priest, now a
cardinal,’ Johno explained.

‘Son found out?’ Beesely softy asked after a moment’s

reflection.
Johno looked at his shoes. ‘When the old man fell ill
he contacted his son via the church - he was holed up in
Malta. Son went out there, not so far from Rome, and
found a deathbed confession from the old man – the same
guy who helped steal the files, killing the people below.
Apparently, the old boy didn’t want the Nazi founders of
Basel – people like Gunter – having it, or the religious
stuff. That’s why he nicked the files. Plan was to tell
British Intelligence where they were.’

‘But he never did,’ Beesely surmised.

185

‘No,’ Johno stated, facing the window again. ‘He
disappeared, ended up in Malta.’ He stepped out without
adding anything further.

Mr Grey found Johno sat drinking tea in the restaurant ten
minutes later. He sat and waited, staring at Johno’s forlorn
features.
Johno finally said, without looking up, ‘Brit’s
approached Beesely back in the fifties, wanted him to
snuggle up to Gunter, get him on our side, spy against the
Russians. He refused, his brother didn’t. And being
married to Gunter’s sister … well, got himself killed for it.
Other Brit’s look like MI6.’

‘After the files?’ Grey quietly asked.

Johno nodded. ‘Make sure all the names of the Swiss
and Germans go to Claus. Might give us a lead.’

‘Got something that might cheer you.’

Johno made eye contact; neutral, tired features.

‘I led the attack on that villa in Tivoli, taking out the
guards. Couple of oddities showed up on thermal cameras,
vents in the grounds.’
Johno’s brow slowly creased. ‘Something
underground?’
‘A big cellar, plus a tunnel going to another villa,
lower down the slope. We noticed several cars there, and
guards, so we skirted around them.’

Johno stared into his tea. Softly he announced, ‘People

I met weren’t the top table.’

‘No?’ Grey puzzled.

Johno shook his head. ‘They’re the front end, the
public end. Someone else behind them pulling the strings.’
‘Hence the secret underground facility, someone
watching the proceedings. Good strategy. You grab the top
table thinking that’s them and any police action stops

186

there. I guess P2 actually learnt something from the last
police raid.’
‘And if we don’t hit the inner group they’ll recruit a
few more people, Tupperware parties as normal.’

‘It worries me that you know what a Tupperware party

is!’ Grey whispered.
Johno lifted his phone. ‘Managers meet in ten
minutes.’ Putting the phone away he said, ‘Oh. Diaz, not a
cardinal at all, Ramon’s bodyguard.’

Grey laughed. ‘Knew it.’

‘You know what I think, who he’s working for…?’

Grey tipped his head. ‘Who?’

‘Mossad.’

Grey shrugged. ‘Be a bit cheeky.’

* * *

With everyone assembled, Claus gave an update: ‘We
have had many hours working on the list, and we have
added the top-table members who Johno met. We have
also identified several men who travelled with them, are
linked, but were not at the meeting.’

‘How old?’ Johno asked.

Claus lifted his notes. ‘Three Germans, from seventy-
four to eighty-six.’

‘Old enough to have served in the war, some of them,’

Johno noted.
Claus added, ‘One French, also eighty, and two Swiss
nationals, although they became citizens at the end of the
war.’

‘No Italians?’ Johno queried.

‘In the top table, yes,’ Claus informed him.

‘Can any of those names be matched to the hand-
written names on the original list?’ Johno asked.

‘None,’ Claus adamantly came back with.

187

‘Try!’ Johno forcefully stated. ‘Even if you have to go

back to wartime records and photographs. That … is the
priority for all resources’.

‘We have refined the list –’ a manager offered.

‘Bloody irrelevant unless we get the men behind it,’
Johno cut in with. ‘The top table are being controlled from
behind. They’re not … the real decision makes.’
The managers glanced at each other, surprised and
confused.

Helen lifted her pen, getting Johno’s attention. ‘I spoke

to Claus earlier and got two companies that we may be
interested in, sent a message to the UK.’
Johno nodded. ‘Claus, I want any unusual activity in
those companies brought to our attention.’

‘Moment.’ He made a quick call to the bank. A minute

later he announced, ‘Interesting. Already a sharp increase
in share price on opening of the markets to trade.’

‘Any reason for it?’ Johno queried.

‘No news on Reuters,’ Claus insisted with a confident
grin.
Johno lifted his phone and direct dialled a number.
‘That you, wrinkly?’

‘Johno?’ came the voice General Sir Christopher Rose.

‘Yeah, listen up. Your end, leaky as hell, direct dial to

Basel. Fix it.’ He hung up.

Otto eased forwards. ‘They have been compromised?’

Johno gave a quick nod, a disappointed look.

‘Some good news, sir,’ Claus offered. ‘We left
cameras on the roads approaching the villa in Tivoli. We
have a great may car registrations.’

‘Match them all up,’ Johno said, sounding dejected.

Claus added, ‘Many match to an Italian private
security company. They are indirectly owned by a
Strasbourg based company, which owns many hotels here
in Switzerland, Austria, Bavaria, Italy.’

188

‘These men,’ Otto suggested, ‘probably stay in their
own hotels.’
Johno nodded as he thought, a glance at Beesely.
‘Let’s get their reservation system hacked, get in there and
steal it, then get the credit card details. We’re looking for
an old bunch who’re not top-table or Basel members, but
who skirt around the edges.’
‘Thomas’s Gameboy, left under the table,’ Otto
explained, ‘has stopped transmitting, as arranged, in case
it is found. We have the conversation recorded after you
left.’
A manager raised a pen. ‘I have been through the
tapes, one part of interest.’ Everyone focused on the man,
keen to hear. ‘After the top-table departed, Senor Pepi had
a conversation with two German men. They were clearly
his superiors, concerned at the fly-by and the shooting of
the guards. One single piece of information for us to use;
they mentioned the risk to a project – a risk from us –
something involving a hotel in Lindau, on the Bodensee.’
‘The junction of Switzerland, Austria and Germany,’
Otto informed the British in the room.

‘We have people there?’ Johno asked the manager.

‘We have sent ten agents –’

‘Send ‘A’ squadron immediately,’ Johno ordered.
‘Another twenty agents behind them. Every road, train,
airport or access point. Sniper rifles and silences; if they
get the chance to kidnap them, do so. I want a list of
people staying at that hotel, then their credit card details,
plus any functions going on – especially EU related. Do it
now, back in thirty minutes.’

The managers rushed out.

When the door closed Johno focused on Claus, now
stood. ‘If we get four or more out of the seven of the old
fuckers we take them. Now, today. Get those details cross-
matched.’

189

Claus stepped out, almost immediately returning.
‘Pascal, from the DGSE, is here.’
‘Get him a coffee,’ Johno curtly suggested, Claus
closing the door.

‘So, might get lucky,’ Beesely put in.

‘Let’s hope so,’ Helen offered.

‘They have been careless,’ Otto suggested. ‘You know,

if we capture them, we do not need to kill the members.’

Beesely faced Johno, Helen turning.

Johno considered it. ‘How long till they re-group?’

‘Someone else will take charge,’ Helen suggested.

‘Need to make a statement,’ Beesely encouraged.
‘Discourage this kind of thing.’
Johno made eye contact with Otto. ‘Didn’t the French
promise us some files on Basel.’

Otto nodded, standing and stepping out, returning with

several files, some quite old.
Johno stood. ‘Please, tell me there’s some wrinkly old
Nazis in there.’
Helen received a file, Johno one, another handed to
Beesely. They started to scan the detail.
‘This is a summary of the founders,’ Otto said as he
read. ‘Ah, they have a name. They are referred to here as
the Cogs.’

‘Cogs of a machine … make it go?’ Beesely wondered.

‘These dates are 1955 to 1963, eight men on the list,’
Otto added.
‘Some bound to have died,’ Helen commented as she
read.

Otto added, ‘I recognise some of these names, they are

on the old list.’

‘No fucking use then, they don’t exist!’ Johno scoffed,

flicking through his file.
Otto lifted his head, a smile forming. ‘Their wartime
service numbers are here, on five of the men.’

190

‘Excellent,’ Johno enthused. ‘Look them up, get a
photo and place of birth.’
Otto stepped out with a single sheet, Claus stepping
back in.
‘Sir, there is a meeting of several EU Ministers in
Lindau today. They are discussing some of the largest EU
contracts ever tabled – new roads, bridges and dams in the
new East European countries: Poland, Hungary, Estonia,
Latvia and others.’
‘And our boys want to secure it,’ Johno suggested.
‘Next ten years worth of dodgy contracts.’
Claus straightened, a glint in his eye. ‘We will be
sending the chairman of our construction company?’

‘He’s in school,’ Helen informed them.

‘Fetch him,’ Johno told Claus.

‘Johno!’ Helen snapped. ‘He has school!’

‘OK, OK,’ he conceded. ‘Claus, leave the little
monster in school.’

‘Ma’am?’ came from the desk phone.

‘Yes?’ Helen answered.

‘Mr Stanton on video conference.’

‘OK.’
Claus switched the large screen on, moving it around,
the image of Stanton and his top table coming into view.

‘You hear me?’ Stanton asked.

‘Yeah,’ Johno replied, checking is watch. ‘You’re up
late.’

‘Johno, I took the decision that what has happened, and

what is about to happen, was too important for the group
not to be involved. We’ve discussed it at length.’
‘Well, that was always your choice, and your right,’
Johno offered.
‘Our planes were stopped last night, as you predicted.
But we picked up the French on radar. Quite a row has
broken out with the Italians. Apparently, the French

191

Interior Minister was quite rude ... over the navigational
errors made.’

Johno and Beesely smiled, making eye contact.

‘Anything new?’ Stanton enquired

‘We’ve figured out that the top table is just a front, real

power brokers working in secret and manipulating them
all. He pointed at the screen. ‘That’s not how you lot…?’

‘Not, it damn well isn’t!’ Stanton insisted.

‘Just checking. There’s a group of seven old Nazis –
Germans and Swiss, one French, all around eighty -’

‘Then it’s good you have friends like us. That group is

on file. They were chased after the war by OSS, eventually
striking a deal in return for spying on the Russians. All …
of them are currently reported dead.’

‘Not quite so dead,’ Beesely pointed out.

‘So it would seem,’ Stanton admitted. ‘We’re emailing

you now their faces and other identifying traits. Plus a list
of interests, businesses and family.’
‘When, exactly, did you come up with this?’ Helen
delicately enquired.
‘After we put all our resources on the subject, NSA
computers working flat out.’
‘There’s a big meet in Lindau, Bodensee, today,’
Johno informed the Americans. ‘Our stiffs may be there.’
‘Unlikely,’ Stanton suggested. ‘They’ll have a camera
set-up, satellite link to their safe and comfortable homes.’

‘Get the NSA all over Lindau today,’ Johno suggested.

‘EU building contracts for the new EU countries.’
Stanton made a note, nodding at a man to his right.
‘OK, Johno, we’ve wandered off track a bit. The Lodge
has met, top table, and voted on a number of issues. First,
you have or complete support in your fight against Basel.
What they did in England cannot go unpunished. And, as
you pointed out, what comes next? In effect, the USA just
declared war on Basel. So, what do you need?’

192

‘Your

computer

thingys –’ He glanced at Helen. ‘- our

bigger than ours. We’ll email you the list, all other details.
Then we need email intercepts, credit card use. Need to
know where they all are. In particular, we need to find the
old stiffs.’
‘They’ve survived up to now off the radar,’ Stanton
pointed out. ‘They’re no fools.’

‘No, but they are still involved in EU contracts, not sat

on a beach somewhere. That’s their weakness, their
keenness to keep playing the game. How long will your
computers take?’
‘All set up. Send us what you have, you’ll get
streaming data back in minutes.’
Johno tipped his head at Otto, who stepped out,
walking behind the screen. ‘Be with you in minutes.’

‘You should already have the satellite images.’

‘Satellite images?’ Johno queried.

‘Mr Grey asked for them, images of that villa.’

‘Ah,

good.’

‘Our technical liaison staff and security will be with
you soon by helicopter - Mr Grey knows them all. We’re
all off now, back on-line in six hours.’

‘Any asset help?’ Johno nudged.

‘Landing in Germany as we speak. Call if there’s a
problem.’
Johno stood. ‘Mr Stanton … sir, thank you for your
assistance, and Nova Scotia was an operational necessity –
it distracted our friends for a while.’
Stanton’s look suggested he was not buying that. The
screen went back to the digital clock.
‘Can we have the coins back?’ Johno shouted at the
blank screen.

‘So,’ Beesely cheerfully began. ‘Got all the support we

need.’
Johno faced Helen, pointing at the desk phone. ‘Ask
for the French guy, there’s a love.’

193

Pascal stepped in a moment later, a trooper at his side.

Johno dismissed the trooper, ordering refreshments for
Pascal.
‘Thank your government for the aircraft,’ Johno
offered. ‘Did they fly from Corsica?’

‘Yes, and quite a diplomatic row.’

‘Never mind, the Wops will have a lot more to worry
about soon,’ Beesely told Pascal, motoring closer. He
stopped level with the French liaison and faced Johno.
‘What are we doing with the treasure, boy?’
Johno gave it some thought. ‘Sending back where it
came from, I guess.’
Pascal’s eyes widened, focussed on Johno. ‘You will
send it … to us?’

‘Most of it. Got to keep a few souvenirs. Besides, you

can decide if the Vatican gets the religious stuff, your
bleeding headache.’

‘When…?’ Pascal asked in a strained whisper.

Johno lifted his phone. ‘Who many trunks of Templar
coins are there?’
‘Forty-six,

sir.’

‘Send thirty to Paris, plus all the religious icons, not
the Arabic stuff. Send ten to the bank society.’
‘Yes,

sir.’

‘Thank you,’ Pascal offered, quietly stunned. ‘May I
notify our Government?’
‘No hurry,’ Johno encouraged with a dismissive wave
as Otto returned, greeting Pascal.

‘Your files are being put to good use,’ Otto told the

man.
Pascal offered a formal head-tip. ‘What else will you
need?’
‘Not much,’ Johno said, a big sigh issued. ‘Yanks are
sending us … assets.’

‘Ah. I see.’

Johno could see Pascal’s grey matter working away.

194

‘Ma’am?’ came from the desk phone. ‘American
helicopters approaching.’

‘Thank you,’ Helen said towards the phone.

‘Helicopters?’ Pascal queried.

‘Best not to ask,’ Beesely suggested, finishing with a
wink.
‘Get yourself a room,’ Johno encouraged. ‘Settle in,
get yourself some food. Then help our staff go through
your files, check-up on French members and current
whereabouts.’ He stood, Pascal following him up and
being led out.

Johno welcomed Grey’s associates at the drawbridge,
noting now how respectful they were towards him and
finally feeling like a member of The Lodge. With K2
guards taking the Americans’ kit bags down to the East
Camp barracks, Grey assembled the fit looking men and
led them inside for a briefing. In the courtyard the ten ex-
SAS troopers caught their attention, greetings – and rude
comments - exchanged, coffees organised from the
vending machines, Johno in the thick of it and loving
every minute. As he explained to the Americans he was –
at heart – a foot soldier.
An American said, ‘Had enough of you fags in
Afghanistan, always stealing our fucking kit!’

He got back, ‘Where’s ya designer sunglasses and fake

tan?’ from a trooper.
Another British man asked, ‘Did you bring your
literary agent with you?’
‘Look who’s talking,’ an American challenged. ‘All
Saddam had to do to get Bravo Two Zero talking was
offer a three book deal – then he couldn’t shut ‘em up!’
They laughed.

195

The body bags emerging from the courtyard got the
visitors attention, the explanation of how they died
causing a few grimaces.

An alarm suddenly sounded, the tannoy ordering ready

squads to the town.
Johno lifted his phone as troopers rushed to vehicles,
the Americans readying their weapons. ‘What’s up?’

‘Sir, Thomas is missing, his driver and guard dead!’

Johno took an involuntary breath. ‘Roadblocks at ten
kilometres.’ He ran inside.
Noticing Pascal he grabbed the man’s arm. ‘My boy’s
been kidnapped! Get a photo to your border police!’ He
strode quickly along the companionway to the office.

‘They’ve grabbed Thomas,’ Beesely informed him.

‘Knowing Thomas … he’s got yesterday’s clothes on.
He would’ve been showing off those fucking shoes!’
‘The tracker!’ Helen gasped. She fired up the
computer, Johno impatiently stood at her shoulder as
Beesely motored around. A minute later and she clicked
‘refresh’ on the software that they had used yesterday. A
map appeared, displaying Zug.
Johno pointed at a red blip. ‘That’s not his school,
that’s the road South East.’

‘There!’ Helen pointed, a fresh blip.

Johno lifted his phone. ‘Condor Squadron up! Condor!

Thomas is moving south east, ten kilometres from the
school.’
Beesely tapped Johno’s arm. ‘He might lead us to
them.’

Helen focused on Beesely, an unhappy glare. ‘He may

also go to a safe house, being held by the heavy mob.’
‘There’s a lot at stake here,’ Beesely softly countered
with. ‘Many lives.’

Johno slumped into his chair, Beesely motoring around

to him as Otto entered.

196

‘We’ll find him,’ Beesely offered in a reassuring tone.

‘They haven’t spotted the tracker.’
‘Should have sent the little fucker to Lindau,’ Johno
muttered, Helen looking away.

Otto paced for two minutes, nothing said.

‘Ma’am?’ came from the desk phone.

‘Go ahead,’ Helen responded, leaning closer.

‘The kidnappers have transferred to a waiting
helicopter, an Agusta. It is heading east, our helicopters
are following.’
‘They can’t,’ Johno admitted. ‘Agustas are faster than
Apaches. Pull back the Apaches, we’ll use the tracker. Get
our people in our Agustas.’

‘Yes, sir,’ came from the desk phone.

‘They won’t catch up,’ Beesely delicately pointed out.

‘The tracker will help,’ Johno responded in a resigned
tone. He rubbed his face. ‘Till it’s out of range.’

Helen checked the screen. ‘Moving east rapidly.’

‘Send his picture to Interpol,’ Johno quietly suggested,

his head lowered. ‘Cover all the bases.’ He checked his
watch. ‘Managers meeting at twelve noon, then we decide
if we move on the list. Let the Lodge know we move on
the list … may move on the list tonight, decision at noon.’

‘Kev and his people have returned,’ Otto informed the

group.
Feeling suddenly drained, Johno lifted his gaze. ‘How
many boys?’

‘Thirty-six,’ Otto answered, his eyebrows raised.

‘Thirty-six?’ Johno repeated, concerned. ‘General
Rose must know exactly what we’re up to. Fucking
containment will be lousy.’ He turned his head towards
Helen. ‘Send for that tosser, Kev, will you.’
She made the call, Kev appearing two minutes later
with Mr Grey.
‘I just heard,’ Kev said. ‘Any news on the nipper?’
Johno shook his head.

197

Helen checked the computer screen. ‘They’re in
Austria. Looks like they’ve stopped. I guess these blue
dots are our helicopters.’ Otto confirmed they were.
‘They’ll be there in minutes.’

‘Who’d you round up?’ Johno barked at Kev.

‘Lots of good boys, twelve only left in the last year.’

‘They’d still be under orders?’ Johno questioned,
referring to the two-year period after service where SAS
troopers could be called back for service.
‘General Rose grabbed us all in Swindon,’ Kev
explained. ‘Had a word. We’s all to do as ya’ ask.’
‘Fucking great!’ He took a breath. ‘He knows, we
know, no one mentions it. Like being married and
cheating,’ Johno coldly stated.

Helen focused on him. ‘Charming.’

Otto tapped the computer screen. ‘They have stopped.’

He spoke into his satellite phone. ‘Report.’ As he listened
his features sank. ‘Return our units.’ Johno waited
expectantly. Otto explained, ‘They found Thomas’s
clothes, and his shoes, on an isolated road. Witnesses said
that one helicopter landed and two took off.’
‘They stripped him and swapped aircraft,’ Johno
stated. ‘Clever little puppies.’
Otto added, ‘The second helicopter was a Bell
Jetranger. It headed north.’

‘Be under the radar,’ Helen pointed out.

‘We’re wasting time,’ Beesely suggested. ‘Best hope is

to take them all down. Someone will talk.’
Johno slowly took in the faces. Beesely, Kev, Grey,
Otto then Helen. ‘What do you say, Otto?’
‘They must know we have something planned, hence
the move to grab Thomas.’
‘Grabbing Thomas won’t stop me,’ Johno snapped
back. ‘Pepi knows that. This is more like his work, save
face with the top table, throw them a minor victory.’

198

He took in Helen’s concerned, yet sympathetic look.
‘What do you say?’

‘All this computer searching, they’ll find out before the

day’s out. Regardless of Thomas’s situation, we need to
move quickly.’

Johno made eye contact with Grey. ‘I have two targets

that are … unreachable to mere mortals. And, your boss
probably won’t like who we hit.’ He made the sign of the
cross.

Grey considered what Johno was suggesting. ‘My team

could do it. Mr Stanton has pledged full backing and told
me to assist you any which way. So, strictly speaking, not
breaking any rules.’

Johno tilted his head. ‘Be hell to pay if you’re caught.’

Grey was adamant. ‘I don’t get caught.’

Johno rubbed his eyes. ‘If we fuck this up, we lose
everything and set Europe ablaze.’ He made eye contact
with Beesely.
‘Eisenhower. D-Day,’ Beesely brashly stated, a wave
of his hand. ‘Sending your people into harms way,
everything risked on one move!’

‘He was a lot better at this stuff than me,’ Johno firmly

pointed out to Beesely.
‘Rubbish,’ Beesely came straight back with. ‘He was
lucky. If the weather in the English Channel had picked up
we would have lost!’
Johno checked his watch again, sighing. ‘Notify all
assets… 7pm kick-off. Get into position before then.’ He
took in their faces. In a hoarse whisper he said, ‘It’s D-
Day, boys and girls. All out war. Someone check the
weather in the English Channel.’

Otto stepped out, followed by Kev and Grey.

Johno took a loud breath, rubbing his face. Facing
Helen he said, ‘See if there was anything on the news in
Italy about those guards we killed.’

She Googled it. ‘Nothing.’

199

‘So, they covered it up to save face,’ Beesely
suggested.

Claus stepped in. ‘Sir, the list.’ He handed over a hefty

document.

Reading it Johno said, ‘Those in Spain and Portugal go

to Kev, numbers permitting. Those in Germany, or
anywhere north of Switzerland, go to the Yanks. Here,
Austria and Italy go to K2. Any overseas, outside of
Europe, go to the Americans. Any around the
Mediterranean go to Mossad. South of France goes to
Edwardo whatshisface.’
He handed back the list, Claus studying it quickly.
‘That would give the Americans over a hundred.’
‘OK … how about we do Bavaria as well,’ Johno
offered.

‘That would reduce the list by … almost forty.’

‘Fine.’
‘Of the Germans, twenty-six are abroad,’ Claus
informed the group.
‘Makes it easier,’ Helen put in. ‘But what about the
French? We’ll upset them … operating on their home turf.
Besides, they said they’d help.’

Johno considered it. ‘How many in France?’

‘Less than fifty,’ Claus reported. ‘As you said, many in

the South of France.’
Beesely faced Claus. ‘Those north of Lyon, give them
to Pascal, ask him to have them arrested on mafia
membership tonight.’
‘How many does that leave in the South?’ Helen
asked.

Claus ran a finger down the list. ‘No more than twenty-

eight.’
‘Fine,’ Johno offered. ‘Send them to Edwardo,
activating his account in Panama.’

Claus made several notes.

‘How many on holiday in the Med’?’ Helen asked.

200

‘I believe around twenty, no more,’ Claus informed
her.

‘Further a field?’ Helen asked.

‘Thirty.’
She faced Johno. ‘Wrong time of year for holidays,
autumn.’
‘Two … are in Israel,’ Claus pointed out, tipping his
head.
‘That’s unfortunate for them,’ Beesely pointedly
remarked.
Helen eased back. ‘And with a bit of luck, the main
players close at hand in Lindau.’

Johno eased up onto his feet. Pointing directly at Helen

he said, ‘No one tell the British anything, just in case.’
‘After this, I’d be lucky if they didn’t arrest me on
sight!’ Helen suggested as she stood.

201

Eve of battle nerves

Johno stood on the companionway, resting his weight on
the wooden balustrade and watching the feverish activity
down below.
Mavo approached and stood level. ‘We gonna get a
crack at these boys as well?’

Johno did not look around. ‘You’re not, no. You, Bilbo

and few select others will come with me when we go for
Thomas.’

After a moment’s reflection Mavo said, ‘Fair enough.’

‘Besides, Thomas may lead us right to the power
brokers.’

Mavo nodded to himself. ‘You seen the courtyard?’

Johno straightened, stretching his back. ‘Lead on.’

The bustle in the Great Hall and courtyard reminded
Johno of the last attack, when the wounded and the able-
bodied had assembled there. Now he figured there were
close to two hundred people gathered in groups, the Swiss
issuing tickets, maps, pistols, wads of money, night-sights,
sniper rifles. It was quite the small army.
He eased up onto the first table, the men closest
turning to face him. ‘Your attention please!’ The crowd
approached, the noise level falling. He pointed at the
courtyard. ‘Get them in here.’
He

waited.

‘Gentlemen. K2 agents. Troopers.’ He waived
dismissively. ‘Yanks!’ A few laughs went around at the
last word. ‘Tonight we strike back … at those who have
plagued us all along. Some of you, most of you, do not
know that K2 was specifically formed by old man Gunter -
with the direct help of the Swiss Government - to
specifically counterbalance the Basel Group of
Freemasons, those we go to fight.

202

‘That group was put together by former German Army

officers, Nazis, using their stolen gold to form businesses
in Europe. In addition to those businesses, they formed -
or infiltrated - European Freemason groups, who might
otherwise have been as peaceful as their English
counterparts; coffee mornings and Tupperware parties.
‘Unfortunately,

greed

seems

to have got the better of

them, and they’ve turned their hand to terrorism. They
were indirectly behind the nerve gas attack here, they lent
a hand with the mercenary attack on us, and they directly
assisted Luchenkov’s attack on the castle, killing our
guards – your friends and colleagues.
‘If they’re not stopped they’ll grow, becoming keener
to break the law and do whatever they please. We cannot
allow that to happen. The Swiss Government is behind
you, the British Government, and now the American and
French Governments have joined us. Later today that
group may grow further – after I have a little chat.

‘When you leave here you take a great risk of death or

incarceration. And make no mistake, some of those you’re
going after will know how to defend themselves. But they
do not have our skills, nor our resolve. If any of you are
caught we shall do everything we can to get you out –
assuming we’re still alive and breathing in the morning.

‘When you are out there tonight, please keep a look out

for Thomas. He’s missing, being held by one of these
fuckers. But knowing Thomas, they’ll probably offer us
large sums to take him back.’
A chorus of laughs swept around the Great Hall,
echoing.

‘Double-check everything, leave nothing to chance. If I

don’t get the chance later, good luck. British, on me. Rest
of you, as you were.’
He clambered down, leading the British contingent
into the bright mid-morning light and onto the grass. They
assembled around him.

203

‘Gentleman. And troopers.’ He took in their faces, Kev

and Mavo at the front. ‘We’re going after the idiots
responsible for Portsmouth.’

The men glanced at each other.

‘And that’s something you can never repeat, for
Britain’s sake as much as anyone else. These … mafia
maggots helped Luchenkov. But if the news gets out then
some of the British press – OK, all of the fuckers – will
attack the Europeans. But it wasn’t the Europeans’ fault.
You have to be careful where you lay the blame. Blame
the people, not the country!
‘When you’re out tonight, don’t forget what these
fuckers had a hand in; show no mercy, make examples of
them. If their families get in the way, don’t shot-up the in-
laws, the publicity will turn against us. As you should
know by now we’re going to mutilate these fuckers - a
ritualistic killing. That will tie them all together. If you
can’t do that without risk, just shoot the fuckers, making
sure you leave behind a calling card. OK, any questions?’
The troopers glanced at each other, most looking
confident.
One man raised a hand. ‘We get a job here
afterwards?’
‘All of you can. After … the heat dies down. You’ll
have cash to get you to the job. After that … fuck off
abroad for two weeks, relax and kick back - further away
the better. We have hotels and safe houses all over the
world, just call Kev or one of the others here and we’ll
give you a list.’
He scanned their faces. ‘OK, as the saying goes … to
your duties, fall out.’
With the men dispersed, just Mavo remaining, Johno
took a final stroll through the park area. The mist had
cleared, the sun breaking through the clouds in the
distance and bathing the far shore in light. The breeze
coming off the lake was chill and fresh, the lake surface

204

choppy, uniform layers of white wave-crests no more than
a few inches high.
No matter how many deep breaths he took in and let
out he could not shake the foreboding, the feeling of
impending doom, even with all the allies lined up behind
him. He lit up, turning and taking in the vehicles coming
and going. With his phone chirping he lifted it. ‘Yeah?’

‘Sir, disposition of ‘C’ and ‘D’ squadrons?’

‘Italy. Get them in unseen, check the list for where to
go. And our best field agents to Italy as well.’ He stepped
slowly up the grass, Mavo loyally stood ready at his
shoulder.

‘Did you get nervous before op’s?’ Mavo asked.

‘Most of the time … no. Used to think I was too thick

to know the risks.’
‘Driving after the Scud’s in Iraq I wasn’t afraid at all,
but I think that’s because we drove after them. Parachuting
into some place was always more scary.’
‘I did four drops in Bosnia and Kosovo. Can’t say I
was that bothered. After Kosovo, after I got my health
back, I did do some work, but all cities, no field work
really.’

‘What do you mean, got your health back?’

They

exchanged

smiles.

‘You, Helen and the kid make quite a team.’

Johno stopped smiling. ‘Before I took on the baggage,

I wouldn’t have hesitated about anything.’

‘Oh, dear, Johno Williams becoming human.’

‘No need to swear, fucker.’

‘All that money, and here you are … right in the shit.
If you get shot tonight you deserve the largest gravestone
with the largest message ever – this fucker had it all, then
blew it!’

Johno faced him. ‘You’re not helping!’

205

‘There’s gotta be some way of fucking up these guys,
something you’re missing. You got the French on board,
just need the rest on board.’
‘I’m already considering that. Might work, or it might
just tip them off.’

‘Do it at the last minute.’

‘No time for manoeuvring then.’

‘Sir?’ came from his phone.

‘Yeah?’
‘Some interesting developments from the Americans,
sir.’

‘On my way.’ He faced Mavo. ‘Yanks got something.’

‘There you go, Uncle Sam to the rescue. Few weeks
late, but eventually … over paid, over sexed, and over
‘ere!’

They walked in, laughing.

Helen and Beesely sat examining an email as Johno
walked in.
‘What’s

up?’

Helen explained, ‘The NSA computer has thrown up
what they believe are the seven power brokers. Credit card
use and flights puts them in all the right places, matches to
Pepi – and aliases they found for Pepi - but they’re not
current Basel members. This guy -’ She tapped the screen
‘- was in Rome last night. NSA even have mobile phone
mapping on them. Right now five of them are in Northern
Italy, a hilltop retreat at Cervinia, less than fifty miles
direct flight from here, just across the border and a dead
end valley.’
‘So no approach by road without being seen,’ Johno
mused. These guys ain’t stupid, they’ve had a lot of
practise.’

Otto appeared, glancing at the email.

206

Johno suggested to Otto, ‘Get Blaum, and see if he can

the get Italian Prime Minister himself here. If not, the
highest ranker he can get.’
‘Cervinia,’ Otto noted as he focused again on the
computer screen. ‘I have been skiing there many times.’
He pointed at the email. ‘I know this ski-lodge, it is
isolated. This time of year, most certainly empty.’

‘Not so empty,’ Beesely pointed out. ‘Five of the them

are there!’
Otto made strong eye contact with Johno. ‘That could
be a very good stroke of luck. Also, from where the
helicopters swapped, a short flight if they doubled back.’

‘They’re there now,’ Helen pointedly remarked. ‘They

may not be staying the night, especially if they get a whiff
of what we’re about to do around Europe.’
‘We can’t launch a helicopter attack in Italian
territory,’ Johno sighed.
Otto brightened. ‘Ah, this ski lodge is owned by
someone I know of.’
‘Buy it!’ Beesely snapped. ‘We can then send some
boys in there!’
Otto lifted his phone. ‘Put me through to Henri
Founche, owner of the luxury ski chalet at the head of the
Cervinia valley.’
They

all

waited.

‘Henri? Otto Schessel, International Bank of Zurich.
Yes, how are you? Good. Your chalet in Cervinia, I’d like
to buy it. Sorry, this is not negotiable. Yes, that is a threat.
Would you like the threat in writing? No. Fine. Your
price, please. It is worth three million euros? I will give
you five, wired immediately. Thank you, always a
pleasure. One more thing, not a word of this to anyone,
especially at the chalet. Fax confirmation of ownership
immediately. Thank you.’

207

Johno lifted his phone. ‘Send helicopters for ‘A’
Squadron, bring ‘em back. Prepare an assault on Cervinia
immediately. Ready Apaches.’
‘Might just catch them having lunch!’ Beesely
enthused.
‘Still going to need Blaum and someone from the
Italian Government,’ Johno insisted, Otto stepping out.

‘Another email from the NSA,’ Helen brought to their

attention. ‘One more puppy in … Lindau, of all places.
Last one … well, well … at the villa in Tivoli.’
‘Get their mobile signatures, their frequencies, I know
the boys here got the kit that can track them,’ Johno urged.

Blaum arrived with the Italian Ambassador an hour later,
the courtyard cleared, many men having left already. Their
visitor was entertained by Claus in the restaurant for
twenty minutes as they waited for the Italian Interior
Minister to arrive by helicopter.

Otto greeted the Italian Minister at the drawbridge, just

as Johno and Mavo climbed into a helicopter, a twenty-
minute flight to Cervinia. Blaum brought the Ambassador
downstairs with Claus and into Helen’s office, the two
groups meeting up.

Otto did the introductions. ‘Minister, Ambassador, this

is Sir Morris Beesely, formerly of British Intelligence.’
‘I have … heard much,’ the Minister cautiously
offered. They shook.

‘Likewise,’ Beesely grumbled, surprising the guest.

‘And this is Dame Helen Eddington-Small, until a few

weeks ago, the director of British Intelligence.’
The Minster shook her hand with a heavy frown, the
Ambassador likewise.

Otto continued, ‘This is a representative of the CIA –’

That caused the Minister to stop and blink before offering

208

a handshake. ‘- and this gentlemen is from the French
security service, the DGSE.’
‘Quite … quite a gathering,’ the Minister nervously
noted as he sat, refreshments ordered.
Otto and Beesely were both present, but Helen was
taking this meeting. She got straight to the point. ‘Let me
start, Minister, by stating quite firmly that by tomorrow
night your government will have fallen on corruption
charges.’
The Italians stared back, horrified and glancing at
Blaum.
She continued, ‘But, in the short term, whilst you are
still the Interior Minister, we’d like your help with
something.’ The Minister simply stared back. ‘I trust you
are familiar with the Cervinia ski area, the exclusive spa
lodge at the top of the valley?’
‘I believe so,’ the Minister answered, his initial shock
still firmly in place.

‘Well, we have just bought it … and a few minutes ago

launched a large scale helicopter assault to seize the
criminals and terrorist there, holding our people hostage.’

The Italians sat frozen, just staring, their mouths open.

The Minister shook off his surprise and took in the faces.
‘This is a joke?’

Helen opened the file in front of her. ‘You are familiar

with The Basel Group of Freemasons, gentlemen?’ The
Minister swallowed. Helen continued, ‘You, Minister have
close associations with these two individuals.’

Claus handed over the photographs, the Italians taking

in the faces they both knew.

‘I know these men, they are well respected –’

‘Terrorists,’ Helen finished off. ‘The British, French,
Swiss and American Governments are all preparing
extradition requests on terrorist charges. As a courtesy,
Minister, we are here – the various intelligence agencies –

209

to see what you have to say for yourself. Before we
consider adding your name to the list.’

The Minister sat frozen to his seat.

Helen added, opening the file, ‘We have concrete
proof, not only of mafia involvement in money laundering,
but of bribery, insider dealing and murder … and also now
terrorism. The question remains, Minister, what was your
involvement with Basel?’

She eased back and waited.

The Minister glanced at Blaum, at the various faces,
then finally back to Helen. ‘I am not … involved with
these people - I just know them. I have no business
dealings with them and, as a Minister in the Italian
Government, of course I am not involved in any such
matters.’
‘Let me be perfectly candid with you, Minister.’ She
sat forwards, resting her arms on the desk, interlacing her
fingers. ‘Some of the … intelligence agencies that have
developed a problem with Basel, and your link to them,
are not seeking extradition.’ She made a ‘pistol’ sign with
her hand, forefinger and thumb.
‘What are you saying?’ the Minister gasped, his now
Ambassador wide-eyed.
‘It’s come to our attention that some … agencies,
would rather see you … removed. Permanently. Car
accident, heart attack, ski accident – broken neck. That
would make it less damaging to … European politics.’

‘You know of a definite threat?’

Helen opened the folder, handing over the first
photograph. The Minister studied it, looking a little lost.
‘That’s the Nan King, the ship that exploded in
Portsmouth.’

Claus handed over the second photograph.

Helen explained, ‘That’s it loading with explosives …
in Marseille.’

210

The Italians glanced at Pascal as Claus handed over the

photographs of the DGSE agents at Marseille.
‘Do you know who those gentlemen work for?’ Helen
asked.
Pascal answered. ‘They were … interrogated. They
work for a man called Guido Pepi.’ The Italians both
flinched. Pascal added, ‘The leader of the Basel
Freemason Group, linked to known mafia contacts.’
Helen offered the Minister a sympathetic look. ‘You
see where this leaves you, Minister. And what do you
think the newspapers of Great Britain, and the world, will
think when they learn of the deaths of a thousand of
British people – at the hands of the Italian mafia.’

The Minister turned to Blaum for support.

‘It is true,’ Blaum solemnly stated. ‘I have seen the
evidence myself.’
The Minister put a hand over his mouth, staring at the
photographs. For many seconds no one said anything as
the Minister consider his future. He eventually lowered his
hand, giving a large shrug – a plea.
‘Minister, you can redeem yourself – in some small
part – by assisting us against the Basel Group. If not, you
may well have that heart attack before you get back to
your helicopter. You will, however, resign at 7pm
tonight.’
He nodded, very gently, the colour gone from is face.
‘What … what do you want me to do?’

‘As we began with, you can sign a document giving us

permission to organise a hostage rescue on Italian soil.
The area is isolated, and we own it, so minimum casualties
or problems. The area is mostly deserted this time of year,
so we have that in our favour.’
‘And … will I still be sought?’ the Minister asked,
avoiding making eye contact.
‘The Governments represented here will waiver their
actions against, if you assist today, and … let us know

211

what you know about Basel … and the secret German
group that controls their top table.’
The Minister and Ambassador both frowned their lack
of understanding.

‘German group?’ the Ambassador queried.
‘Didn’t you know?’ Helen toyed. ‘Know who really

controls it, the Nazis who used stolen gold to found the
group?’

‘It is true,’ Blaum put in.
The Ambassador looked more shocked than the

Minister.

‘You look … surprised, Ambassador,’ Helen toyed.

‘Did you think that the top table and Pepi made the
decisions?’

Otto clicked on the computer, playing the recording of

Pepi talking with the German. Oddly enough, the
Ambassador recognised Pepi’s voice.

Claus offered the Minister a form to sign. The Minister

hesitated before adding his signature. Blaum signed as
witness, Pascal as witness, finally handing it to the
Ambassador.

‘I cannot put my name to that,’ the man suggested.
‘Why?’ Helen delicately enquired. ‘Wouldn’t the

Grandmaster of your Lodge like it?’

The Ambassador suddenly realised why he was in the

meeting. Helen pressed a button on the desk phone, two
troopers stepping in and cocking their weapons.

‘You, Ambassador, will be having a heart attack later,

being found in a hotel room with a prostitute and some
cocaine. Of course, that is not my final decision. Some
here would rather you got the chair.’

The Minister turned fully to face his Ambassador.

‘You … you are Basel?’

‘I want to make a deal,’ the Ambassador offered,

staring at the troopers.

212

Helen walked around the desk, handing the

Ambassador a notepad and pen. ‘These gentlemen will
take you to a room. What happens after that depends on
what you write down. And how quickly.’

She waved him out, closing the door and sitting. ‘So,

Minister, what do you think you’ll do … after leaving
office?’

The route to the Italian border and Cervinia was a steady
climb into Alpine valleys, breaking through a ceiling of
grey clouds at two thousand metres and then into the
bright sunshine, pilots and passengers winching at the
brilliance and placing on sunglasses. Passing over a
permanently snow-covered knoll in the hills above
Zermat, the Schwaree Range, Johno could see that
numerous die-hard skiers were out enjoying some very-
late season exercise, off-piste.

Johno’s lead Agusta crossed the knoll at little more

than twenty metres above the snow, skiers stopping and
looking up – or falling over. Five black Agusta helicopters
roared over the skiers, followed by four Squirrel
helicopters, finally a line of five Apaches - quite a
spectacle – especially when witnessed from above as the
skiers descended the steep slopes. Crossing the ridge the
passengers’ stomachs were in their mouths as negative ‘g-
force’ resulted from a climb followed by a dive.

‘Five minutes,’ came over the radio. ‘Crossing the

Italian border soon.’

‘Airborne One, this is Helen. Green light.’
‘Copy,’ went back.
Johno turned his head, facing Kev, Mavo and Bilbo.

‘Still awake?’

‘If we crash in the snow, I’m eating your kidneys,’

Mavo told him.

213

‘Johno’s kidneys?’ Kev challenged. ‘Use them to make

a fire, they’re twenty percent proof!’

Alaine Iconnou, a portly forty-five year old Italian,
checked the chalet’s register. His guest party of eleven
were booked-in for two days, two guests arriving later
today, three departing tomorrow. Everything seemed in
order, but it was always wise to triple check with this
party.
At first he thought he heard thunder, tipping his head
and listening. Then the sound started to remind him of an
avalanche, a quick panic before he remembered the
season. He stepped around the reception desk with a room-
maid, the young lady also curious about the growing
reverberations, stepping to the large front windows and
looking down the valley as the sound increased.
His panic grew as the building started shaking, the
maid suggesting an earthquake, but at the same time
doubting her own theory. The sight of three Apaches in a
row descending into view, less than fifty yards from where
he now stood, was a shock; not least because they seemed
be bristling with missiles. When they opened fire on the
road in front of the chalet-hotel he dived to the floor, the
maid screaming and joining him when she realised that it
was probably a good move. The roar was intense as the
sounds of the tarmac road tearing up filled the foyer.

Johno observed from two hundred feet above. He clicked
on the radio. ‘Hit the windows, just those showing no
thermal images inside, and any other areas where it’s safe
to fire – avoid any casualties.’
At the rear of the chalet the log-shed shredded. The
chalet’s roof tiles shattered and fell, the chimney reduced
to dust, the garage for the ski equipment caving in after the
walls gave way, the chalet’s ski equipment destroyed.

214

With the conservatory and hot tub reduced to broken
glass, Johno’s helicopter put down on the lawn. The
troopers piled out and into the lying position, shooting out
the glass of windows and doors on this side of the chalet,
Johno lying prone as the helicopter quickly lifted off, the
second Augusta already moving in to land.
The four of them ran forwards across the lawn,
stopping with their backs to the lodge’s thick stone walls
as the second helicopter touched down, the troopers out
before it had even settled, their ride pulling off
immediately. With both teams against the wall, Johno sent
two troopers around the front, two around the rear, Mavo
now on his stomach and holding open the door. Jumping
over Mavo the remainder stormed in, stopping and
kneeling just inside the door.
Along the length of the lounge people lay face down,
Johno shouting at them to stay down in several languages.
With four K2 agents now through the door behind him he
stood and ordered the people trussed. Using plastic ties the
four men and two women were roughly bound, the women
desperately enquiring as to what was happening.
When everyone was securely tied, and sat upright,
Johno gave them a quick look over. Two looked like
bodyguards, one man obviously too young, the women
definitely not Basel, but maybe family members. With the
building still reverberating from the roar of helicopters
Johno moved out from the lounge. ‘On me!’
In the foyer area the manager and the maid were still
on the floor, but crawling along. Running forwards as a
squad, their weapons covering every angle, Johno grabbed
the manager, lifting him against the front of the reception
desk.

‘Who are you?’ Johno barked.

‘I am the … the manager. Iconnou.’

215

Johno produced a page and thrust it into his face.
‘We’re the new owners – the International Bank of Zurich
- otherwise known as K2.’
The manager’s expression swiftly moved from shock
towards abject terror.
‘I’m going to ask you a question. Answer it wrong,
you’ll be tortured. Where … are they?’
With his hands raised the manager reluctantly
answered, ‘Rooms one to six. But now, they play snooker.
Basement.’
Johno moved his face to within an inch of the
manager’s nose as troopers tied up the maid. ‘Is there a
boy here? A prisoner?’ The manager shook his head, a
heavy frown. ‘Gather all your staff here. Now. You will
not be harmed.’
The manager grabbed the reception desk phone as
Johno lifted his radio. ‘They’re in the basement. Search
the upper rooms for any stragglers.’ He lowered the radio.
‘On me!’
The open door, and the steps going down, were
obvious, a quick look in revealing a well lit area at the
base of the steps, no one visible. Johno dropped to his
belly, placing his head down on the first step, looking side
on. A snooker table was evident, a cue on the floor, no one
playing. Reaching awkwardly in with his MP5 he fired on
the table, a long burst shredding the green felt and grey
slate underneath.
‘Raus! Or we grenade!’ He waited. Nothing, and no
one, was forthcoming.
Turning onto his back he whispered, ‘Outside.
Window on cellar, shoot it up, stick your head in.’
Bilbo and two others ran outside, Johno swivelling
back to the stairs, MP5 focussed on the table. He fired
another burst to distract anyone away from the windows.
Then he waited. A short burst of fire was rapidly followed

216

by another, glass landing across the carpeted floor of the
basement games room.
‘Clear!’ came a voice, echoing both up from the
recreation room and from an open door to the road.

Johno eased up with a hand from Kev, before stepping

quickly down into the basement, back against the wall and
weapon prone. ‘Clear!’ he shouted, rushing to the left of
the large room, Kev and Mavo following him down and
now spreading out.

‘Nothing!’ came from Mavo as he reached the far wall.

‘Look for trap doors,’ Johno suggested. ‘I know these
fuckers.’
They began their search, pulling out cabinets, moving
pictures from walls, pulling up the carpet tiles – all the
time with Bilbo wedged through a high window, covering
them.
Kev opened the dartboard cupboard and tapped on the
wooden backing with the mussel of his MP5. Hollow. He
backed out quickly, his movements noticed by the others.
He put a finger to his lips then pointed, Johno closing in.
Firing at an angle, to save hitting those inside – just
scaring them – Kev put ten rounds into the wood,
obviously hollow.
They waited, the roar from the helicopters bursting
through the smashed windows. Johno pointed at Kev,
directing him to the far side, back to the wall. Mavo was
directed opposite, lying down on his side, weapon aimed
up at the wood. With the men in place he moved next to
the dartboard, his back to the cellar’s stone wall. He took a
good grip on the top of the door and yanked it forwards,
not affecting it. He pulled it towards himself, a good yank,
the false door opening on Kev’s side.
A flurry of small calibre pistol rounds came through
the wood, Mavo firing back, but aiming low. Kev dropped
to his knees, MP5 angled in and fired at the stone floor,

217

ricochets spraying whoever was inside. A cry and a gasp
could be heard.

‘Raus!’ Kev shouted.

Nothing came back.

Mavo could see shadows against the walls, so fired a
burst. More cries registered as those inside were hit by
ricochet.

‘Kev! Smoke!’ Johno ordered.

Kev yanked a green smoke grenade off his webbing,
pulled the pin, waited for it to start gassing then tossed it
in. Johno pushed hard on the door from his side, closing it,
Kev putting his foot against the base. Banging on the door
came a few seconds later, Kev holding it firm for another
five seconds.

‘Ready?’ Johno asked. ‘Now Kev!’

Kev moved off to the side, back to the wall as the first

man came through. Choking, and covered in blood, the
elderly man dropped to the floor gasping for breath. In his
expensive grey suit he tried to crawl forwards, finding it
almost impossible; these were not fit young soldiers, these
men were over eighty.

The second fell forwards, stumbling over his associate,

rapidly followed by two more. Then a muffled shot echoed
out of the room, everyone staying down.
The blast of wind coming from the smashed windows
helped to circulate the green smoke, which was clinging to
the upper third of the room and rapidly dissipating. Kev
put his head in, staying low. One man lay unconscious,
another slumped – having taken his own life.

‘Clear!’ he shouted.

Troopers grabbed the arms of the old men and dragged

them across the room, tying their hands behind their backs
with plastic ties; three conscious and wounded, one
unconscious and one obviously dead.

218

Johno lifted his radio. ‘Medics to the basement!
Targets taken, situation secure, no sign of Thomas, update
base.’

He took in the old men, and blood on their faces and

hands from numerous small cuts. ‘Make sure these fuckers
don’t die on us, check their wounds.’ He grabbed the most
resilient of the old men, lifting him to a seat. The man
looked defiantly up as Johno retrieved a hand-sized
blowtorch. With his face inching close Johno said, ‘Bet ya
I can get rid of that smirk.’
The blowtorch clicked on, a small blue flame just an
inch long, close enough to the prisoner for him to winch
back. ‘Where’s the boy?’

The old man focused on the blue flame. ‘Pepi has him.

Italia. Tivoli,’ came in a heavily accented Germanic voice.
Johno straightened, knocking off the flame. Softly, he
ordered, ‘Get them outside.’
At the top of the stairs he walked briskly through the
foyer, just as breezy as the basement now with its
windows smashed, and into the lounge. The staff sat
assembled, alongside the remaining guests, all terrified.
Johno lifted the manager, putting his MP5 into the
man’s neck. ‘Which are staff, which guests?’
The manager wasn’t handcuffed and now hurriedly
pointed out three guests and four bodyguards. Johno
pointed at the bodyguards, sliding his finger towards the
door, an Agusta waiting on the lawn. K2 agents grabbed
the nominated men, bundling them outside. Johno
approached a group of two women and one young man, all
dressed in floral polo-neck jumpers.
He stood in front of the terrified trio, the cold wind
circulating around the room – a hint of green smoke, the
roar of the helicopters shaking everything. He
dispassionately studied them for several seconds. As he
did so the old men were dragged out. A scream from the
first woman, aged in her mid forties, labelled her clearly as

219

family, the comforting hand from the young man
suggesting he was her son.
Johno continued to study the family group as the four
geriatric prisoners were dragged past, followed by a body
bag – the woman now hysterical. He eased closer. ‘Do you
know what these men did during the war?’
He waited. The son stared up defiantly, the woman
confused.
‘They were all ‘SS’ – Nazi officers,’ Joho coldly
stated. ‘And tomorrow every newspaper in Europe will
have their pictures and their stories.’ Now the family
looked more confused than concerned. Johno continued,
‘They’ve also been involved in corruption, murder, and
mafia membership for sixty years. Most recently, they
arranged the kidnap of my son.’

The family stared back up, shocked.

‘Tomorrow your faces will be all across the
newspapers of the world, the seed of Nazis. You’ll be
arrested, your assets seized.’
He thumbed towards the hotels main door. ‘Start
walking down the road, and remember the name Basel
Freemasons. Those old fuckers founded and controlled the
group.’ He stiffened and stepped back. ‘Go, get out of my
sight.’
The young man led the two women out as Johno
turned to the hotel’s staff.
‘Apologies, but – as your new boss – you are all
sacked. P45s in the post.’ He handed two sheets to a man
dressed in a chefs outfit. ‘That’s our proof of ownership,
and permission from the Italian Interior Minister to launch
this counter terrorist raid. You will all be compensated
fifty thousand Euros, in a month’s time, depending on
what you say to the newspapers. And tonight, keep in
mind that these old men were those controlling the Basel
Freemason Group. Look out for it on the news, then
consider what danger you’re in by having worked here –

220

and known them. They’re mafia, wanted in France,
American, England and Switzerland on terrorist charges.
You may not want to advertise the fact you knew them.’

Keeping a hand on the manager’s shoulder he thumbed

the remaining staff towards the door. As the last maid ran
through the door he lifted his radio. ‘Everyone out. Recall,
recall.’
He faced the manager. ‘You’re coming with us,’ he
informed the terrified man. ‘If you help us you won’t be
harmed and you’ll make some money. Understand?’

The manager nodded, before being firmly nudged

towards the lawn.

Pulling up the valley in his Agusta, Johno ordered:
‘Apaches, destroy the chalet.’

Crossing the brilliant white snow-covered peaks, Johno
could hear humming. It grew rapidly louder, becoming
distinctly the ‘Dam Busters’ theme. Allowing himself a
reluctant smile Johno ordered the singing piped back to
Zug.

Helen’s desk phone came to life, Beesely sat close, the
wordless singing taking a moment to understand.

She hit a button. ‘That you, Johno?’

‘We got four, one took his own life. No casualties on
our side. Thomas at the villa. Johno out.’

Blaum and Otto stepped in with expectant looks.

Helen lifted her head. ‘They got them. Heading back.’

‘Excellent,’ Blaum enthused, but controlling his joy.
‘Any … sign of Thomas?’

‘Being held in Tivoli, east of Rome. I guess we’ll hit it

tonight.’ She made eye contact with Beesely, the
concerned etched into her face.

‘Ma’am?’ came from the phone.

Helen eased towards the phone. ‘Yes?’

221

‘A man has been apprehended in Lindau. He has the
correct credit card and mobile number to match the
primary suspects.’
‘How

old?’

‘He is estimated to be mid eighties and Italian,
Ma’am.’
‘Good. Thank you.’ She eased back, making eye
contact with Otto. ‘Just the villa remaining.’

‘How’s the dispersal?’ Beesely asked Otto.

‘About eighty percent of targets have been issued.
Some are moving around Europe as we speak, so we must
wait for them to settle – at home or in a hotel.’

‘Ma’am?’ came out of the phone again.

‘Yes?’

‘A General Rose, Ma’am.’

She made eye contact with Beesely. ‘Put him through.’

‘Helen?’
‘Yes,

General.’

‘French President and his Interior Minister just arrived

at Number Ten, urgent – private – meeting regarding you
lot. Any clues?’
‘Yes. The French are very sorry for their countrymen
being involved with Basel and are completely on board. In
fact, they’re offering us material assistance. Got a DGSE
liaison officer here.
‘You

have?’

‘And

CIA.’

‘Oh. Well, what’s happening?’

‘Six out of seven of the founders – the power brokers –

are in our custody. Johno just led a helicopter assault into
the Italian Alps.’

‘Jesus. Won’t the Italians jump up and down?’

‘There Interior Minister was here … gave us written
permission.’
‘You put a gun to his head?’ Everyone in the room
glanced at each other. ‘Helen?’

222

‘He’ll be resigning later. The Italian Ambassador to
Switzerland just had a heart attack in a hotel room,
furnished with a prostitute and some cocaine.’

‘Jesus. Well ... er … well done anyway. What’s next?’

‘Plausible deniability.’ She hung up.

Blaum asked, ‘May I ask, Helen, if you … wish your
old job back?’
She lowered her head for a moment. ‘Couldn’t
happen.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Once you’re out …
that’s it. And being here would … taint me.’

‘They sent you!’ Otto pointed out.

‘They … used her!’ Beesely snapped. ‘Praying on her

sense of loyalty. And after tonight, we’d all be lucky to be
allowed back into the UK.’

‘But you are, in a way, fighting their battle as much as

ours,’ Blaum puzzled.
‘No medals in this game,’ Beesely spat out. ‘Do the
right thing, then bury it as best as possible. My brother’s
body is downstairs and they knew all along. The
bookkeeper took the treasure in 1962, my brother’s death
registered in 1965 – after they figured he wasn’t coming
back … and to stop me from looking for him.’

Otto nodded. ‘And in 1963 Gunter sent his new young

wife to you –’
‘See what I knew, probably,’ Beesely quietly stated,
staring at the floor.

223

Every silver lining, has a dark cloud

The troopers stood waiting for Johno at the drawbridge,
walking in with him.
‘What’s next?’ Kev keenly asked, buoyed by their
success.

‘Italy. Thomas is at that poxy villa,’ he replied as they

walked across the cobblestones. ‘There’s something
underneath it. Anyway, we got the satellite images, have a
butchers.’

In the great hall he stopped and grouped the men. ‘Get

some food, rest, check your kit. We’ll set off for Italy
around 8pm, probably hit them midnight. Briefing just
before 8pm, yeah?’

The troopers headed off, Mavo and Kev staying close.

In Helen’s office Johno slumped, ordering doughnuts and
coffee, Mavo and Kev leant against the companionway
railing.

Beesely motored around. ‘OK?’

Johno nodded. ‘Went smooth, never knew what hit
them. One shot himself under the chin, rest are heading to
the chair room with their guards.’
Blaum put in, ‘They have considerable assets. We
estimated they may have fifty billion pounds in assets.’
Helen suggested, ‘We’ll get what we can. Americans
have identified dozens of Cayman Island accounts for
these gentlemen - dozens more proxy companies with
shares all over the world.’

Johno absently nodded, lifting his phone. ‘Can you put

me though to Pepi at his villa in Tivoli.’

Everyone waited expectantly.

‘Herr Johno, what a pleasure,’ came Pepi’s voice.

‘Start … running.’

Pepi hesitated. ‘What do you mean?’

224

‘We have six out of seven of your bosses, last one at
your villa. Why don’t you give them a call. In fact, ring
their families, the ones that were with them at Cervinia
today.’
The line went dead, Johno lowering the phone. ‘Must
have been something I said,’ he muttered without looking
up, his food and drink brought in and placed down.

‘What’s the plan?’ Beesely asked.

Johno rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes
for a moment as he spoke. ‘We got six out of seven, and
they might talk. Pepsi must know it’s over.’ He opened his
eyes and slowly raised his head. ‘Fucker might just roll
over and make a deal.’ He lifted his drink, noting a slight
film to it. He sniffed, his features hardening. Tossing the
cup over his shoulder he told Otto, ‘Woman who just
served that … get her!’

Otto stepped out, returning a few seconds later with the

woman and two guards, Mavo and Kev focused on her.
Terrified, she faced Johno.
Johno stared up at her. ‘If I have that cup analysed,
what’s the result going to show?’
‘Answer!’ Otto shouted at her after she failed to
respond.
Johno made soft eye contact with the woman before
looking away. ‘What hold do they have over you?’

‘They have my daughter,’ she admitted, now frantic.

‘We’ve been on lockdown –’ Beesely began.

‘Who’s your contact?’ Johno asked her.

‘A junior manager - Michelle.’

Otto stormed out. Ten seconds later a shot rang out,
followed by a few screams. When Otto returned he waved
the woman out, taken by the guards, and sat without a
word.
‘I guess that plugs that leak,’ Helen muttered, wide-
eyed.

225

Johno reached for his food, then tossed it over his
shoulder when he realised what he was about to eat.
Lifting his phone he said, ‘I want all food and drink in our
private kitchen removed and destroyed, absolutely
everything. Ta, love.’
‘Lucky,’

Beesely

noted.

‘Half-arsed attempt,’ Johno scoffed. ‘Must have got
desperate. Not even a decent fucking poison.’ He rubbed
his face. ‘OK, tonight. Briefing 8pm, then we hit the villa.’
‘They know you’re coming,’ Helen pointed out,
obviously disapproving of the idea.

‘Still gotta look,’ Johno sighed.

‘He’ll run,’ Beesely firmly suggested.

Johno made brief eye contact, a quick, reluctant nod.
Facing Otto he said, ‘We need a distraction, east side of
Rome, every copper busy, every highway blocked.’
‘I will arrange it,’ Otto responded, still appearing
angered.

* * *

Otto stepped level to Johno at the drawbridge, Johno
watching people coming and going as he took a fag break.
He clasped his hands behind his back, observing the scene.
‘We have revised the list, much information from the
bodyguards of the old Germans, some from the manager
of the chalet – regular visitors to see the Germans.
Some… politicians.’

Johno turned his head at the last part, saying nothing.

Otto continued, ‘We have a good idea of the structures

and assets now, two of the Germans talking, two died
during… interrogation. The elderly French man resists.’

‘Tough old fucker. Old school.’

Otto nodded unseen as they observed the busy scene in

front of the castle.

‘Do we have enough people?’

226

‘Yes. We have Herr Shue’s men moving against ten
people in Austria, many of whom are already known to
them. One of these men is an art collector, a secret horde
of illegal items. They will … liberate it, as part of the
process.
‘The interrogations have revealed many Italians, so
most of our people are there. Four are in America, so we
have notified Mr Stanton through his liaison here. One
individual is, unfortunately for him, now residing in
Panama. One is in Argentina and two in South Africa.’
‘Looks like were going to win then,’ Johno quietly
acknowledged, no enthusiasm in his voice.

Otto glanced at the side of Johno’s head. ‘We will find

Thomas.’
Johno blew out slowly. ‘He’s probably making a
nuisance of himself. Be lucky if they don’t kill the little
sod for being so abusive to them.’
Otto tipped his head. ‘I can imagine. He will not be
a… model prisoner.’
‘If the Italian mafia are sensible … they’ll go all out
for us, today, before it’s too late.’
Otto again studied the side of Johno’s head. ‘Leave
that to me. Make your plans, get Thomas back.’ He turned
and walked briskly off, Johno glancing over his shoulder.

In the command centre Otto met Pascal, gesturing the
Frenchman to a quiet corner. ‘The Americans and British
are sending special forces here, just thirty men each, for a
joint exercise – in fact a photo opportunity – with the
Swiss, a joint ‘counter terrorism’ effort for the TV
cameras.

‘I suggested to them - the British and Americans that is

- that you might send some troops, but they were not so
keen.’ Pascal straightened. Otto added, ‘Naturally, if you
send some troops we would make them welcome and so

227

add to the TV spectacle. Once here, the British and
Americans could not object, this is a Swiss facility.’
‘I have a call to make,’ Pascal suggested, his pride
clearly dented.

Otto stepped to the American liaison, closing to a
confidential distance and whispering. ‘A small point of
interest. The French insist on sending troops here to
protect us whilst our forces are away, a joint exercise with
the Swiss for the TV cameras – a counter terrorism
exercise. They have asked if the … annoying Americans
could be out of the way when the TV cameras are around.’

‘Bloody French,’ the Lodge’s liaison whispered.

Otto tipped his head and shrugged. ‘Of course, Johno
wants your people here. So, if there is a small force here
when the TV cameras arrive…’
The liaison officer offered Otto a dangerous smile,
stepping away quickly.

Stanton held the phone to his ear. ‘They said what?
Fucking French! I’m sending a detachment from
Germany. Fuck ‘em!’ He slammed the phone down.

Colonel Golon, DGSE, listened to the call. ‘They said
what? Not welcome? If the Swiss say we are welcome,
then we are welcome. This is Europe, not America! I’ll
arrange a detachment.’

Minister Blaum answered his office phone. ‘Otto, how
goes it?’
‘With Basel, well enough. Thomas is being held in
Italy, that is our next concern, but there is a small political
row breaking out here.’
‘Political

row?’

‘Yes. The Americans, French and British are all
offering to send small detachments here while our men are

228

away – which we need. But they are competing to be the
ones … seen to be protecting us. I think that if we have no
Swiss soldiers visible it may look bad.’

‘Yes, certainly. This is our country!’

‘We have arranged TV news cameras to film the
soldiers, making it look like a joint venture counter-
terrorism exercise, which should deter any attacks – or any
retaliation from the mafia.’
‘Yes, a good idea. But are you sure you want TV
cameras at Zug?’

‘It is necessary, tonight, to help protect this facility.’

‘OK, I’ll arrange a Swiss detachment. One hour. They

were on standby – just in case.’
‘Thank

you,

Minister.’

General Sir Christopher Rose answered his mobile phone.
‘Johno?’

‘No, this is Otto. Johno is busy, and – to tell the truth –

he did not want me to make this call.’

‘Make what call?’

‘The French are sending troops to Zug, to protect us
when our people are off … doing what is about to happen,
although they don’t fully know what we have planned.’

‘Neither do I!’ General Rose complained.

‘Anyway, the French have arranged TV cameras –’

‘TV?’
‘And they will make a big issue about how helpful
they have been –’
‘Ah, I understand. Their President is in close contact
with our new PM –’
‘Who is probably unaware that French and American
soldiers will be filmed shortly, and yet –’
‘No British? Be hell to pay tomorrow if the British
press get hold of it. I’m going to organise some troops, sit
tight.’ He hung up.

229

Pleased with himself, Otto sought out Beesely – who

roared wit laughter when Otto explained what he had
done.

Thomas banged on the storeroom door; his uncomfortable
temporary prison.

‘What is it?’ came a voice, one of Pepi’s guards.

‘I need to take a dump!’

‘A

what?’

‘A dump, you stupid foreigner!’

The door opened, a slap issued. ‘What is a … dump?’

‘I need to go to the toilet, moron.’

That earned him another slap. ‘This way.’

With no toilets in the basement of the villa he was led

upstairs, Maria waiting at the top step.
With his tongue poking out the side of his mouth he
smiled at her voluptuous form. ‘What’ll you do for twenty
dollars?’

She slapped him. ‘You are a pig! Like your father.’

Rubbing his head, but still smiling, he said, ‘I’m
chairman of Encosol. Want a job? You could set on my
knee?’
She slapped him again, nudging him forwards toward
the toilet, just a few steps along the corridor. ‘It is an
internal toilet, no windows, no way out.’

‘OK, OK, keep ya knickers on.’

She pushed him in, pulling the door closed and
slamming it. Immediately he checked the room. It was a
very nice bathroom, ornately decorated; toilet, b-day,
shower, sink, cupboard, no windows, no exit.
‘Bugger.’ He relieved himself, spraying the floor and
the towels. Having flushed the toilet he took a hand towel,
stuffing it around the toilet bend out of sight. Noticing the
water level now oddly low, due to the blocked pipe and

230

the water being pushed around, he turned on the cold
water tap, took a mouthful and spat it back out into the
toilet.

With an ear at the door Maria wonder just what the hell

was going in inside. Every time she though he was
finished another dribble would register through the door.

Finally he opened the door. ‘Still here, love?’

She pushed him forwards.

‘Oh, forgot to flush,’ he said, a glint in his eyes. Maria

turned, Thomas rushing down the stairs. He got to the
bottom, a smirk for the guards, two steps taken and a
scream from above sending them running up the stairs. He
jogged into the storeroom and pulled the door closed as
the bathroom flooded.

* * *

As Helen and Johno sat silently eating in the restaurant
they became aware of the dull drone of helicopters. They
exchanged quizzical frowns, Johno getting up and walking
two steps to the windows, Chinooks coming into view
across the lake. He lifted his phone. ‘Who’s arriving?’
‘American Delta Force from Germany, sir. They will
protect this facility tonight.’

‘That’s nice of them. Who organised that?’

‘Herr Otto, sir.’

‘OK.’ He sat back down.

‘Who is it?’ Helen enquired as she picked at her food.

‘Yanks. They’re going to hold the fort tonight.’

They both peered skyward as a line of helicopters
passed directly overhead.

‘They look like French,’ Helen noted.

Otto stepped into the restaurant, sitting and taking one

of Johno’s chips.

‘Visitors?’ Helen asked him.

231

‘The French were feeling left out, because the

Americans were on their way,’ Otto explained. ‘And now,
the British are put out because the French are here. SAS
detachment landing at Zug shortly, Swiss Army in the East
Camp.’

Johno absently nodded. ‘Get a dozen doctors set-up for

eight o’clock, Great Hall, we can’t stick any wounded in
the local hospitals.’ Otto shot Helen a concerned look.
Johno added, ‘Get every helicopter we can on standby,
fuelled, ready to fetch wounded, bring our people back.’
‘I will arrange it,’ Otto assured them. ‘Have you
rested?’
Johno moved chips around on his plate with a fork.
‘Can’t sleep. I’ll get some kip on the flight out. Aircraft
and helicopters always make me sleepy.’
‘We have arranged re-fuelling on Corsica and at
several private airstrips in Northern Italy,’ Otto informed
Johno, not getting a response. He added, ‘The final old
man is still at the villa.’
Helen suggested, ‘Must think the Italian police will
stop us.’
‘He might be right,’ Johno muttered. ‘They know
we’re coming.’
A manager stepped in. Addressing Johno the man
quickly got out, ‘Sir, late season grass fires are moving
close to Tivoli.’
Johno stared at Helen as he thought, then jumped up.
Pointing at the manager he loudly ordered, ‘Get the strike
force ready now!’ The manager ran out, Otto and Helen
standing. Johno grabbed Otto by the arm. ‘Get those fires
spreading … like fucking wildfire. Find the wind
direction, then start fires a mile from the villa, then all
over – keep the police busy!’

Otto rushed out.

‘That’ll give us an edge,’ Helen enthusiastically
suggested.

232

‘Big fucking edge,’ Johno agreed. ‘They can’t stay in
the villa breathing smoke.’ He lifted his phone. ‘I want
napalm grenades, ten of them, to my helicopter.’

* * *

In the courtyard Johno stepped briskly out, Kev, Mavo and
Bilbo in tow – all now in civilian clothes, MP5s slung.
They approached the Delta Force detachment, fifteen men
lined up against the wall in an assortment of uniforms with
irregular equipment, green kitbags on the floor behind
them.
Johno approached the officer in charge, a captain.
They shook. ‘Welcome to Schloss Diane - a quiet country
retreat.’

The officer grinned. ‘I’ve heard rumours.’

‘They’re all true. Listen, got any medics?’

‘Two field medics, but most of the boys are well
trained.’

‘They’ll be a triage set-up here in an hour or so, muck

in.’
‘Triage?’ the officer questioned. ‘We expecting
trouble?’
‘Here … unlikely. But we’re off on a joint mission
with the CIA. If any of our boys get hit – no hospitals.’

The officer nodded. ‘Got ya. We’ll help out.’

‘Arm and deploy your men, co-ordinate with our
managers. And Colonel, around here – assume nothing.
We have infiltrators and we get attacked regular. Right
now we’re off to pull the dragon’s tail, the head may come
here looking for us.’
‘Jesus.’ The captain faced his men. ‘Get back on the
clock, boys!’
Johno slapped the man on the shoulder and stepped
though the drawbridge. The French had landed on the east
road, now walking up the compound in squads and

233

escorted by a scattering of K2 guards. He waited for the
senior officer, offering a handshake. ‘You speak English.’
‘Yes.’

‘Got any medics?’

The officer blinked. ‘Four.’

‘Inside,

triage,

stand to your men, we’re expecting

trouble. I have to go, but hopefully see you in the
morning.’
Jumping into Range Rovers the troopers watched the
French assemble, the Swiss Army now marching up the
road in neat lines, and in even neater uniforms. At Zug’s
small airfield John’s party jumped down as the British
Rapid Reaction Force assembled their jeeps, a C130
Hercules halted at the far end of the runway.
Captain Turner drove over when he noticed Johno.
They shook. ‘You off?’

‘Duty calls,’ Johno sullenly stated.

‘And we should be the one’s executing that fucking
duty!’ Turner quietly snarled.
‘Can’t,’ Johno pointed out. ‘This ain’t war, this is
murder.’

‘I know what’s going on, some of it anyway, rest of the

boys don’t.’
‘Keep it that way, we may be in jail by morning.
Anyway, French and Yanks at the castle, so keep the
peace. But don’t get complacent, we have a bad knack of
getting bombed.’

Johno stepped away, taking in the sight; six Agustas in

a row, six Squirrels, an Apache flying north a mile to the
east. The Agustas would refuel near Genoa, then on to
Corsica, approaching the Italian coast well south of Rome,
at night and using night vision goggles under the radar.
With just five men per aircraft the helicopters usual
maximum range of three hundred nautical miles would be
extended, the approach route being the exact opposite of
that expected.

234

Johno faced the Squirrels, much slower than the
Agustas. He pointed at the first helicopter, lifted his arm
high and made a circular pattern, ending by pointing to the
south. The first Squirrel pulled and turned, the rest
following in sequence, keenly observed by the SAS
troopers as they waited in their jeeps at the edge of the
airfield.
With the Squirrels moving out of sight and dusk
coming on, Johno and the ‘old dogs’ clambered into their
spacious Agusta, taking off a minute later. His headset on,
night-goggles ready, Johno reached across to the centre
control panel and pressed transmit.
‘Operations, this is Kilo-two-alpha … airborne. Be
back before you know it. Out.’
Kev nervously asked, ‘We … er … flying through the
Alps … at night, low level like?’
‘Yep,’ Johno replied. ‘But don’t worry, it’s all white,
easy to follow. And if we crash, soft snow to land on.’

The pilot shot him a look. ‘First, across the Alps, under

the weather and under the radar,’ he said in his accented
voice. ‘Then across the water at ten metres. Any problems,
it will be over very quickly.’

‘Cheery fucker,’ Kev commented.

Thomas touched the side his face. It was still very sore,
but the blood had dried. He licked the cut on his lip then
started again on the door hinges.

His storeroom cell had plenty of sharp edges, a pair of

scissors was now coming in very handy. The bottom
hinges had already gone, the top just a matter of forcing
the pin out. Then he would wait till they were asleep.
He sniffed. ‘Great, the fucking house is on fire!’ he
muttered.

235

Dropping the scissors he clambered across the boxes
and to the window, standing on a paper shredder and
reaching up. Locking his fingers around the window bars
he lifted himself awkwardly up, suppressing the pain in his
elbows as they pressed into the concrete. Straining to peer
out of the small window he could see flashing blue lights
down the valley, orange flames in the distance and lots of
smoke.

He dropped down. This would be his opportunity; they

would be distracted. Working hard on the last hinge he
banged the scissor handle with an increasingly sore palm,
ignoring the pain with an angered determination. It popped
out. He put an ear to the door, noting someone
approaching.
The door was unlocked, pulled, the door falling
forwards onto the man, crashing to the floor. Thomas
jumped forwards, onto the door then off, running up the
stairs. A hard slap from Maria stopped him dead. She
managed to get the injured side, opening up his cut.
Grabbing him by the collar of his jacket she dragged him
into the conference room, throwing him to the floor.

‘Bitch!’ he screamed at her, struggling to his feet. Pepi

stood at the window with the remaining German, the man
being referred to as ‘Holts’. Thomas had seen the same
man earlier, a guard now watching Thomas as Maria
stepped to the window, joining Pepi.
‘The fires are getting closer?’ she asked, peering over
his shoulder.
‘The wind seems to have changed direction,’ Pepi
responded. ‘We’ll soon have to leave, but the road to
Rome is blocked by fires. A petrol station went up.’

‘What about helicopters?’ Holts asked.

‘They will not fly because of the smoke,’ Pepi
explained.

‘I have heard many helicopters!’ Holts challenged.

‘Police and water-dropping helicopters.’

236

Something exploded in the distance, a bright flash
followed by cascading stars of light with long tails of
smoke.

Holts pointed. ‘What was that?’

Another explosion caught their attention, closer this
time, in the vineyard and with the same cascading balls of
fire. A third explosion in the olive grove, looking like a
firework display.

‘Helicopter!’ Holts pointed out. ‘There. Very low!’

‘It’s K2!’ Pepi shouted.

Thomas laughed, causing the men to turn.

The next explosion rattled the window, the spectators
retreating away from the glass, grabbing Thomas and
leading him towards the door. The fourth explosion took
out the window, a ball of burning napalm igniting the
curtains, a burst of machinegun fire and a blast of pungent
smoke and wind entering the villa.

‘The tunnels!’ Pepi shouted, leading the way.

Leaning out of the Agusta’s door Johno dropped the next
napalm grenade, past the villas roof and onto the gravel at
the rear, next to a car. Three armed guards running out and
taking aim were in the wrong place at the wrong time,
engulfed in flames a moment later. Slowing and circling,
Johno dropped the last two grenades into the vineyard,
ordering the chopper down and onto the road where it
widened at the lower villa, the anticipated entrance to the
Pepi’s secret basement.
Piling out and running forwards everyone opened up
on the lower villa, aiming at the tops of the windows to
keep down the heads of anyone inside. A guard appeared
to the right of the villa, taken down by Bilbo with a short
burst.

A car to the left turned on its lights, starting up. Mavo

and Kev opened up, long bursts through the windscreen.
The car’s headlights died. Mavo checked the driver,

237

another short burst to the head, Johno now to the villa
door.
A short burst at the lock and he kicked the door open,
jumping back against the wall. Kev landed against the wall
opposite as a burst of fire came out. Johno waved him
down, Kev kneeling, holding his MP5 on its side, flat to
the floor as he fired. A scream echoed out of the door.

Johno reached in a fired a short burst, sweeping left to

right, Bilbo now to the side window and firing through it.
Another scream came through the dark.

Johno changed magazine, nodded to Kev, then stormed

in whilst holding his fire. With his back to the hall wall he
could see two men on the floor, short bursts to each. ‘Hall
clear!’
Kev moved inside, followed by Mavo, moving to the
first room of this single story villa. ‘Clear!’
Johno and Mavo stepped over the bodies, a cursory
look into the back room.
‘Back room clear!’ Johno shouted, a signal at Mavo
towards the kitchen area.
Something moved, a reactionary burst from both of
them, someone falling forwards. Moving in they checked
the body.

‘Clear!’ Mavo shouted.

‘Bilbo?’

Johno

called.

‘Back door,’ came back.

‘Johno!’ came from the front door.

Johno lowered his weapon and headed back down the
hall. ‘Check outside for secret passages,’ he ordered, four
K2 agents running inside.
Finding a light switch Johno turned on the lights.
‘Look for a secret door!’

Five minutes of searching revealed nothing.

‘Must be outside,’ Kev suggested.

‘Check the floor,’ Johno suggested, the men now
stamping down, moving furniture.

238

‘Johno! Here!’ came from outside, causing the squad
to move out, the men starting to cough in the smoke-filled
air.
‘Here!’ a Swiss-accented voice called through the
smoke, the sounds of intermittent machinegun fire mixed
with distant police sirens, the crackle of burning wood
close by.
Ten yards through the olive grove and towards the
main villa Johno found the men stood at an entrance to a
concrete passage, a heavy metal door sunk into it.

‘We will need much explosives for this,’ the K2 agent

unhappily reported.

Johno banged the heavy metal door with a fist. ‘Solid.

One man stay here, rest on the villa.’

He led them up the slope and through the vine terraces,

the sounds of intermittent gunfire coming from the villa,
their view fogged by the drifting smoke. Lifting his radio
he said, ‘Forces at the villa, we’re coming up the east
vineyard, check your fire.’

Noticing someone who was definitely not one of theirs,

brightly illuminated by the burning villa, Bilbo took the
man down with a short burst. On the gravel outside the
villa they navigated around the cars bent-double, the
vehicles windows now broken. Perspex crunched under
foot. A troop of four K2 guards ran from their left towards
the villa door, linking up.
Johno halted everyone, waving them down to the
kneeling position on the gravel and lifting his radio.
‘Anyone inside the villa, report.’
‘This is Max. Some guards here, no one else.
Basement door locked.’
‘Put the lights on, we’re coming in the front door,
check your fire.’
The upstairs lights came on, Johno leading the men
inside and putting on all the lights. Along the hall he
stepped to where he remembered seeing a door that could

239

have been a basement entrance. At the heavy wooden door
he turned the handle. Locked. Stepping back and waving
away the men he fired on the lock; a long burst followed
by a swift kick, the door giving. The steps inside were
already illuminated, a clear passage evident, smooth
magnolia walls and no one visible.

‘Flashbangs,’ Johno mouthed to Kev.

Kev slung his weapon, pulling out two of the stun
grenades, pulling the chord and throwing them down as
Johno dropped to his belly, getting the best view.

Two loud bangs echoed up, but no other sounds.
He turned his head to Mavo. ‘Lift my legs, push me

down,’ he whispered. Mavo grabbed one leg, Bilbo the
other, a nod from Johno resulting in his going head first
down the stone steps on his belly, MP5 forwards.

Movement, a guard in a suit. He fired, cutting the man

down.

Hitting the bottom he rolled left, focusing his attention

behind the steps. Another guard, a burst to the face –
knocking the man backwards. He eased quickly up to the
kneeling position, checking the large basement. ‘Clear!’
The men charged down with their backs to the wall,
weapons prone.

The room housed numerous computer screens, desks

and filing cabinets. The centre of the room hosted a sofa
and a coffee table, the far end a small kitchen and another
sofa.

A bank of monitors caught Johno’s attention – it was

how they observed the top table meetings. Walking down
the length of the room he quickly scanned for an exit,
finding a door behind the steps. ‘Here!’ he shouted,
focusing his weapon on the door.
Kev closed in, turning the handle and easing it open,
finding a well lit passageway heading further down.
‘Clear,’ he whispered.

240

Bilbo readied his stun grenades, co-ordinated through
eye contact with Kev, and chucked them down. Two
bangs echoed back up. Again on his stomach, Johno
peered in. Turning onto his back and arching it he eased
down the steps, Kev holding his legs.
As Johno’s feet reached the lip of the steps he said,
‘Fucking mile long passage. Let go.’
Sliding down he rolled onto his front at the base, sure
now that this passage was clear, just being able to see the
end through the haze of smoke left by the stun grenades.
He stood. ‘Kev with me, rest wait,’ he said as he ran
forwards.
Reaching the first corner he halted, checking the bend
and finding another long passage, at least fifty yards.
Turning back he waved Kev forwards and then ran further
in, his footsteps echoing along the lengthy corridor.
Conscious of the fact that this was a death-trap, and easy
to defend, he kept his weapon levelled forwards.
At the next bend he stopped again, panting. Glancing
around the bend he let out, ‘Fuck’s sake!’ Another
passage, another fifty yards. With a deep breath he ran on,
the echo of Kev’s boots behind him.
He finally reached a metal door. Wasting no time he
pushed it forwards and stepped into the smoke-filled night.
Dropping and crawling he checked the immediate area, a
siding off the main road whose gravel could hold three of
four cars. Now there were none.
A police car shot past, not seeing Johno through the
dark and the smoke. He stepped back to the entrance.

‘Anything?’ Kev asked,

‘Long gone.’ He nudged Kev back in. ‘C’mon. Run.’

They met Bilbo at the first bend, despite Johno’s prior

order, Johno ordering everyone back to the villa. In the
basement he stopped for a glass of water, washing the
smoke away from his eyes.

241

‘Here!’ someone called, Johno stepping quickly to the
storeroom, its door off its hinges. On the wall above the
door was a word written in blood. ‘Sicily’.

Johno could not resist a quick smile. ‘Good lad.’

He stepped back into the basement, shouting orders.
‘Get any computers and disks, as many files as we can
carry, call back the choppers.’
As K2 agents loaded files into boxes Kev passed
around a mug of cold water, Johno stood taking in the
faces as he panted. ‘Welcome to Friday the 13

.’

‘Not the 13

today,’ Mavo puzzled.

Johno explained, ‘When the French attacked the
original Knights Templars it was Friday the thirteenth.
Black Friday. That’s where the name comes from, and
why thirteen is unlucky.’
‘And

tonight

these Freemasons get burnt at the stake,’

Bilbo noted.
Johno tipped his head towards Bilbo, agreeing with
that statement. ‘C’mon.’ He led them upstairs and out,
retracing their route, the villa now host to more than
twenty K2 agents. He grabbed many of them, sending
them down for files, before the fires already taking hold
took the entire villa. Lifting his satellite phone, just
outside the main door, he said, ‘Put me though to Helen.’
‘Helen

here.’

‘They skipped the villa, long exit tunnel, two hundred
yards long. They’re heading for Sicily, so get some people
down there. Right now they’re probably driving south, see
what you can do.’

‘Any signs that Thomas was there?’

‘Yeah, he left us some breadcrumbs. Any signs of
police moving towards us?’

‘No, they’re quite, quite busy.’

‘Work us out a route to Sicily, refuelling stops. How
goes… the other matter?’

242

‘Twenty-four confirmed … dealt with. Hitting the
news in various places. French have announced the
‘recovery’ of the Templar treasure, getting massive
coverage. So far, two casualties, one dead.’
‘What

nationality?’

‘One of Shue’s men, in Austria.’

‘OK. Anything else?’

‘All on schedule. Head south, we’ll work out a
refuelling stop in five minutes.’

‘Johno out.’ He pocketed the phone, pointing down the

vineyard with a chopping motion, Kev demolishing the
ornate bird bath as they went.

243

Those that live by the sword

Cardinal Ramon paced up and down in his spacious
quarters, the TV in the corner showing the Italian news.
He had already seen the British news and film of the
soldiers at Zug; French, British, Swiss and American. All
of these countries had now seemed to formally endorse
K2, a serious concern for him.
The call from Pepi had been disturbingly frantic,
several members of the top table having been murdered.
What was even more frightening was what Italian TV had
described as their method of execution.
He stopped in front of the TV, his hands clasped
behind his back. The Italian Ambassador to Switzerland
was dead, of a heart attack, found in a Bern hotel room
with a prostitute and cocaine, the Interior Minister
resigning – after a visit to K2.
Diaz knocked and entered, approaching quickly. ‘It is
confirmed, the French have forty trunks of coins, the bulk
of the treasure, and all of the religious artefacts.’
Ramon sighed. ‘Then tomorrow we must make a
petition to the French Government.’
A weapon cocked behind them, both men turning.
Ramon stood in his robes, Diaz in a suit, both now facing
Mr Grey as he levelled a pistol with a silencer towards
them.

‘You,’ Diaz muttered.

Ramon faced his bodyguard. ‘You know this man?’

‘American, special forces, working for K2,’ Diaz
snarled.
Grey stepped sideways to the door, locking it before
walking casually forwards with a slight grin. ‘So,
gentlemen, seen the news?’

244

Ramon straightened. ‘You will not harm me. Not
here,’ he snarled.

Grey offered him a sadistic smile as he closed the gap.

‘By tomorrow … most members of the Basel Group will
have been killed, and not in a very pleasant way. That
includes the top table, most of whom have already been
dealt with – or captured and tortured – by K2. Including,
the five old Nazis who founded it back in the fifties.

‘The villa in Tivoli has been destroyed, everyone there

killed, Pepi on the run. The hilltop retreat in Cervinia -
well destroyed - all the Basel Group records recovered by
K2. Probably make for some interesting reading, wouldn’t
you say, Cardinal?’
Ramon had lost his bluster, his hands dropping.

Grey added, teasing, ‘And all this time your right hand

man was a deep cover agent for Mossad.’
Ramon frowned at Grey, not quite sure who he had
been referring to, finally turning his head to Diaz.

Grey focused on Diaz, who hadn’t moved – or reacted.

‘Shouldn’t have told me you were a Marine. I did some
checking and my associates are the best there is. Found
your service record and a photo – which is close, granted –
and the death certificate of the original Almondo Diaz,
part Italian, part Mexican. Had someone fly down to his
home town, check him out properly, talk to his folks.’
Ramon was still staring at Diaz as his right hand man
for the past twenty years turned to him. Diaz raised a hand
and waved, childlike. ‘Shalom.’

Ramon gasped, taking a step back.

Grey levelled his gun at Diaz, two shots through the
heart, the man falling backwards with a surprised stare.
Now Ramon was very confused. Stood over Diaz, but
facing Grey he said, ‘Why … if he was Mossad?’

‘Because a Mossad agent would have taken that secret

to the grave with him, not risk admitting it here, a room
that could be bugged or filmed. Besides, he wasn’t

245

Mossad, I checked. He was working for Basel, keeping an
eye on you.’
‘Basel?’ Ramon gasped. ‘They … they did not trust
me?’
Grey laughed as he stepped forwards. ‘Idiot.’ He hit
Ramon in the throat; not enough force to kill him, but
enough to stop him talking – or crying out – as Grey did
what he had to do.

Twenty minutes later the smoke detector’s wailing caused
guards to break down Cardinal Ramon’s door. Rushing in
and waving their hands at the smoke they stopped dead
when they found Ramon. Hanging upside down, naked,
nailed to a heavy wooden wardrobe, the cleric has been
crucified. A line of rosary beads hung from the crucifix in
his mouth, his torso burnt, the smell of petrol still
pervasive – mixed with the stench of burnt flesh.

* * *

In Sharm-el-Sheik, Egyptian Sinai, Alberto Molarini sat
with a Russian girl less than half his age, both now
enjoying a mild night on the veranda of a private villa
within the grounds of the Hyatt Regency hotel. A plane
passed loudly overhead, heading to the airport just a few
miles along the coast.
Lowering her head Katerina noticed the blood coming
from Alberto’s left eye. She called his name, getting no
response. Standing, she could now see a lot of blood. She
rushed inside to call reception. Upon her return she failed
to notice his partially open mouth, a crucifix and rosary
beads inside.
The sugar crystal used to penetrate his eye socket and
brain would dissolve rapidly, not showing up on a cursory
Egyptian post mortem, especially not with the rudimentary
facilities available at Sharm-el-Sheik. The body would be

246

taken to Cairo, or sent to Italy, giving the sugar plenty of
time to dissipate.

* * *

On the balcony of his room in Bentota Beach Hotel, Sri
Lanka, Hans Grummon watched people in the next room
throw food to the numerous chipmunks that inhabited the
trees between the hotel and the beach.
A knock on the door and he walked past his sleeping
wife, opening the door to a hotel worker. Five foot two tall
and painfully thin, the dark skinned man walked in,
spraying as he went. ‘Mosquito.’
Hans observed the little man. ‘If you want fewer
mosquitoes, why do you have a pond in the fucking foyer?
Huh? I’ve looked at this pond closely, it is a breeding
ground for fucking mosquitoes!’
The little man ignored him, diligently spraying the
room, regardless of the health issues for the guests,
eventually stepping past the large German and closing the
door.
‘Dumbkopf!’
Hans went back to the balcony, not least to avoid
breathing the spray. His wife he didn’t care about, she
could breath it all she wanted as she slept. On the next
balcony the people had stopped feeding the squirrels.

He breathed-in the warm night air, peered over the

balcony and then tumbled, only registering the push
afterwards. He hit the sand on his back, injured by his own
hefty bulk, too stunned to cry out.
Something was placed into his mouth, forced in,
choking him. A slash.

He now registered that he could breath though the hole

in his neck, just before the lowering blood pressure in his
brain robbed him of further thought on the matter.

247

* * *

Sosua beach, Dominica Republic, was quiet, just a
sprinkling of tourists. The area and its resorts typically
filled up quickly when the Americans and Canadians were
on college breaks or bank holidays, keen for a cheap trip
to the sun with even cheaper booze.

Now Gunter Schwab patrolled the beach, the noon sun

blocked by the clouds, the day humid and warm. Several
young Dominican girls had smiled as he passed, Gunter’s
pocket stuffed with ten dollar bills, any one of which
could have secured a blow-job in a quiet corner of this
poor country.
An attractive and shapely girl, in her early twenties,
walked brazenly across. ‘Hello, Mister. You want to have
some fun?’

Gunter smiled; he respected the direct approach.

She led him west up the beach and behind a house to a

secluded area. A man stepped out, giving her more money
that she could earn legitimately in a year. Gunter stopped,
wondering if the man was her pimp. The cocking of a
pistol behind him, and a nudge, ruled that out; this was a
mugging.
Ten minutes later he hung by his ankles from a tree,
his intestines reaching down to the floor, a crucifix and
rosary beads stuffed into the back of his throat, his face
burnt and blackened.

‘Target 127 dealt with,’ reached K2 operations.

Johno greeted the dawn on the hills above Messina, Sicily,
an eye on the ferry port far below. Kev handed him a
coffee in a white foam cup bought from a local garage.
Bilbo sat at the wheel of a hired Mercedes, Mavo asleep in
the back, all the doors now resting open. Two other

248

Mercedes parked in the viewpoint, K2 agents sipping
coffee.
With his phone starting to bleep, Johno lifted it.
‘Yeah?’
‘It’s Helen. That ferry port you’re above is locked
down tight on both sides, has been since – well – two
hours after you left the villa. And it’s a six to eight hour
drive from Rome!’

‘They probably flew. What about mobile trackers?’

‘Both off since the villa.’

‘Guess they figured that one. Any private flights in?’

‘Lots of them.’

‘Be a love, get me the name and address of the biggest

gangster on the Island -’

‘Such a person … is likely to be in bed with his fellow

Italians.’

‘Any Basel list people based here?’

‘None, I just looked.’

‘Then be a love and do as I ask, organise some cash in

the capital here. Which is what?’
‘Palermo. Take A90 north and then west along the
coast, couple of hours, beautiful drive.’

‘How’s the list?’

‘Two hundred and sixty one confirmed so far. Many
far and wide not confirmed, many listed as missing.’

‘And the top table?’

‘All bar one. He’s running and hiding.’

‘And the news?’

‘Being sidelined in France, Switzerland, Austria at the
moment, some in the UK – blaming the mafia – Italians
going crazy, not least because five Junior Ministers dead,
all linked in the style of execution. They’re calling it P3.’

‘One more than the P2 fiasco. Good.’

‘German news is bad, their Chancellor launching a
large-scale inquiry into the deaths, but their media is
blaming the mafia. We’ve arranged some quite costly

249

financial irregularities, and where we have influence we
have German politicians suggesting that they distance
themselves from Italian corruption. That will keep them
busy for a while. Plus, they haven’t noticed yet two Junior
Ministers not reporting in for work, a few high-ranking
civil servants or two German MEPs.’

‘Be hell when that news hits,’ Johno suggested.

‘Otto has some ideas there - he’s plotting something.
The death of a certain ex-Prime Minister has been
announced as a heart attack in Nice, South of France.’
‘Tidy.

How

you holding up?’

‘Got a few hours sleep, no incidents here. Did a walk
around the courtyard, pressed the flesh. Big test will come
today when the news hits properly.’
‘Get me the details of the mafia guy - I want a warm
welcome. Ta, love.’ He stood and stretched, finished the
coffee and nudged Kev back towards the car, noting the
snoring Mavo in the rear.

The reception, at a hilltop villa above Palermo, was not
exactly warm, the inhabitants now both intrigued – and
concerned. Otto had had a long chat with the mafia boss,
Salvatore Bono, in Italian, before transferring five million
pounds in good faith; the arrival of Johno’s convoy being
seen as a mixed blessing.

They drove into a pleasant courtyard shaded with trees,

a gurgling fountain at the centre. Children ran out of sight
as Bono and his sons stepped down from the villa’s main
entrance to greet their guests.

‘Senor Bono?’ Johno asked.

Bono turned to one of his sons, his own English not
great.
‘My father greets you. You are Herr Joanah?’ the
young man offered, heavily accented.

250

‘Johno,’ his visitor corrected. ‘John-oh. The other was
swallowed by a whale.’ He was gestured inside, coffee
waiting.

They found the darkened interior cool, the day already

warm outside, the tiring and laborious journey three hours
from Messina. The troopers plonked down, the K2 guards
standing near the door.

Johno rubbed his face as his hosts sat. ‘Tell your father

that we thank him for seeing us, and offering us his
hospitality.’

The son translated. Finally, he asked Johno, ‘What is it

that you wish?’
‘We wish to find a man that has kidnapped my son.
His name is Guido Pepi.’
The hosts recoiled at the name. The son quietly
protested, ‘This man … he is well known, and very
powerful.’
Johno rubbed the bridge of his nose, where he had
been wearing sunglasses. ‘We are stronger. We have taken
his businesses, killed his people, burnt down his villa.’
Looking horrified, the son translated, many words
exchanged with his father and brothers. Finally the son
asked, ‘You wish us only to assist in finding your son?’
‘Yes. You have already been paid, for which we ask
for you kind assistance.’
After an exchange with their father, two other sons
stepped out. The first son offered, ‘We will ask everyone
we know to look out for this man and to report it.’
‘Fine. Thank your father for his assistance … and ask
if these weary travellers could have a bite to eat.’

An hour later Johno and Kev lay slouched on loungers in
the midday sun, warming-up despite the chill breeze
across the mountains. The view was magnificent towards
the coast and Palermo, their rest only interrupted by an

251

inquisitive goat that tried several times to nibble Kev’s
shoes.

Johno’s phone chirped. ‘Yeah?’

‘It’s me,’ Helen began. ‘Any news?’

‘Nope. Mafia don dude is asking around, we’re
sunbathing after our goat’s cheese toasties and lamb
something stew.’
‘News has hit all over, right round the world. Being
helped by the Italian Prime Minister resigning. No news
from inside the Vatican.’
‘Did

Grey…?’

‘Yes. Both of them, and Diaz – who was Basel.’

‘Diaz was Basel?’ Johno considered it. ‘So, they were
keeping an eye on Cardinal Ramon, eh? No bleeding
honour amongst thieves these days!’
‘German news is the worst but, thanks to someone’s
idea, they are all linked to the deaths in Italy and P3.
Police aren’t looking too hard, certainly not this way.’

‘How many men did we lose?’

‘Ten wounded, couple savaged by dogs, six gunshot
wounds, lost a few of Shue’s men. Mr Grey says that two
Americans were killed, but they had no ID on them, no
prints registered. Couple of Edwardo’s people were killed,
but they were freelancers, Italian of all things, so French
playing hell with the Italians. German TV showing their
citizens dead all over the world – Caribbean, Sri Lanka,
Malta -’

Johno stood. ‘Oh, you idiot!’

‘What?’
‘No, not you, me. Malta! Vatican has a secret hotel
there inside a seminary, Pepi’s top table used it for
meetings.’

Kev jumped up.

‘You think that’s where he’s gone?’ Helen asked.

252

‘Definitely! Thomas heard Sicily, which must just be a

stopping over point. Get the choppers ready, send our best
people to Malta, we’re driving back to the helicopters.’
The team rapidly departed, Bono thanked, told he
could keep the money. It had turned out to be a profitable
morning’s work for him and his family – labouring over a
very profitable lamb stew.

* * *

‘Grey?’ Johno shouted down his phone.

‘Yeah? What’ up?’

‘Malta. See if Stanton has any assets close by – Navy.

Our friend could get a boat to North Africa.’

‘Leave it with me.’

* * *

Fatigued, Steffan Lodz, the remaining Basel founder,
made a simple mistake; he swiped his credit card in a
Palermo hotel. The credit details went by phone to the
Italian hub for MasterCard, linked to Germany and Lodz’s
account there. On its way there it was intercepted by the
NSA, the name matching a ‘watch list’. The transaction –
date, time, amount and place – was shunted to a computer
in the USA where it was re-examined. It matched the
required details, bounced to a supervisor station with a
‘match’ warning. He noted the department who were
interested in it, then sent it on. The Lodge took the email,
bouncing it across to K2 a minute later. The junior K2
operator noted the flags, sending it onto his manager. The
manager’s software flashed red, the detail displayed. He
‘actioned’ it, bouncing the detail to the Telephony
Department.

‘Ma’am?’ came from Helen’s phone.

‘Yes?’

253

‘The credit card of Steffan Lodz has just been used,
Palermo, the Grand Hotel Wagner. He is the man know as
Holts, last whereabouts was the villa in Tivoli.’
‘Contact Bono in Palermo, ask him if he would be so
kind as to have him picked up – seeing as how we’ve been
so generous up to now.’
‘Yes,

Ma’am’

‘Foolish man,’ Beesely commented.

‘Pepi may be with him,’ Helen tentatively suggested.

‘No, I do not believe that one … would be so foolish,’

Otto put in. ‘And this credit card use may be a decoy.
These men have survived in the shadows a long time to be
making such simple mistakes.’
Beesely faced Otto, a slight shrug. ‘He probably
believes that we don’t know his real name. He can’t know
if the others talked.’

* * *

Dame Helen approached Pascal in the command centre,
appearing as if she had just been passing. ‘How are you?’
she asked in French.
‘Concerned, of course,’ he replied. ‘If my superiors
had fully known what you had panned…’
‘Us? We haven’t done anything. And there’s no
evidence that we did.’ She held her gaze on him.

He tipped his head, a resigned shrug.

‘Anyway, on another matter. It looks like Pepi, the
Grandmaster of Basel, is in Malta, trying to get a boat to
Libya. The Americans are carefully co-ordinating things,
planning to catch him and then offer him back to the
Europeans, probably the Germans, to show how helpful
they – the Americans - are.’
Pascal stiffened. ‘Malta, and the Mediterranean, are
European. Not American!’

254

Helen eased closer. ‘Perhaps … you could mention
that to your … superiors.’

Pascal walked quickly outside, mumbling to himself.

The sun was now settling behind the Sicilian mountains as
Johno’s convoy reached Catania’s Fontanarossa airport.
With the vehicles stopped next to the helicopters Johno
called Helen.
‘Johno?’

‘Yeah, we’re at … Catatonia –’

‘Catania,’ Helen corrected. ‘The other is a band.’

‘Well, we’re there, flying direct to Malta, our choppers

have the range.’

‘There’s a small fishing town just down the coast from

you called … Agusta.’
‘We should be taking off from there then,’ Johno
joked, sounding tired. He glanced towards the ocean,
sniffing the brine on the breeze.
‘Well don’t go anywhere just yet, there’s a French
Military helicopter on its way to you.’

‘Why?’ Johno puzzled.

‘It’s off their aircraft carrier, Charles de Gaulle, which

was the other side of Sicily, heading towards Marseille.
They’ve turned it around, now it’s steaming towards
Malta.’
‘And

...?’

‘Seems the French had learnt that the Americans were
planning on grabbing Pepi if he made his way to the North
African coast. The were a little … peeved, so now they
want to lend a hand – keep it European.’

‘Nice of them,’ Johno quipped.

‘Besides, Pepi is their most wanted at the moment.’

‘I’m not planning on letting Pepi sit in the dock and
sing his heart out!’

255

‘Neither are the French. They most definitely would
not want Marseille dragged up.’

‘Yeah, suppose. So what’s this frog helicopter for?’

‘Pilots on it, they’ll guide you onto their aircraft
carrier.’
‘They’ll what?’ Johno loudly queried, Kev and Mavo
closing in.

‘French idea, organise the search from there.’

‘And does Stanton know that?’

‘He … will do shortly.’

‘He’ll be pissed – I’d better call him. What’s the time
in the States now?’
‘11am

ish.’

‘OK,’ Johno sighed. ‘Any other news?’

‘Whole world is focusing on P3, they’re getting all the

blame.’

‘We have people in Malta?’

‘Dozens, going through airport records now. And
we’ve got that seminary staked out.’

‘He’ll be inside,’ Johno confidently stated.

‘We’ll have to tread carefully. Maltese authorities
won’t want to storm a Vatican seminary,’ Helen
cautioned.
‘Maltese authorities will want rid of him. I’ll have a
word.’

‘Would that be a … tactful word, or a Johno word?’

‘It’ll be a tactful Johno word. Call you later.’ He
pressed red followed by green, the troopers watching. ‘Get
me Stanton.’

‘Johno?’ came from the phone a few seconds later.

‘Yeah,

you

OK,

Boss?’

‘No,

I’m

worried.’

‘Why’s that?’ Johno enquired.

‘Because you’re asking after my health - for the first
time ever. What’ve you done?’

256

‘Nothing. We’re sat here in Catatonia in Sicily, at the
airport, about to board a French aircraft carrier.’

‘You … what?’

‘Yeah, French aircraft carrier.

‘The Charles de Gaulle?’

‘Could

be.’

‘They’ve only got one, so it’ll have to be!’

‘Well, whatever. Anyway, they found out that your
navy are trying to stop Pepi getting to North Africa –’

‘And that pissed them off!’

‘Guess so. Anyway, here’s what I want you to do.’

‘What you … want me … to do?’
‘Yep, ‘cause you’re a big man who can see the big
picture.’

‘Johno?’ Stanton called, concern in his voice.

‘Listen, what would it achieve if you grabbed Pepi and

handed him to the Europeans?’

‘They’d … be grateful?’ Stanton testily asked.

‘Unlikely. They’d be shown up by you, which would
achieve nothing for anyone, especially not Franco-Yanko
relations. Whereas, if you lot assisted the Frogs, letting
them take the lead – given that this is Euroland’s
backwater - then the French would be happy with you,
improving Franco-Yanko relations, and your boys would
be seen as being … magnanimous. As well as helpful little
fuckers. Besides, you can wind up the French for years,
making out how you came to their rescue.’
‘Johno …’ Stanton sighed. ‘You’re a good tactical
thinker. What did you have in mind?’

‘What tubs you got around here?’

‘Italy is home to our Sixth Fleet, Task Force Sixty is
not far off at the moment.’

‘Could you be a love and a make a call?’

‘Give me an hour. Where do you need the net?’

‘Throw some ships around Malta, but Pepi ain’t
heading anywhere other than Malta. He’ll go to ground

257

there for weeks, or months. Place he’s at is above the cliffs
on the south west side. If your lot can be there before
dawn tomorrow we’ll scare the bugger. His room does,
apparently, have a nice sea view.’
Stanton could be heard chuckling. ‘I’ll get back to
you.’
Johno hung up as a grey French helicopter came into
view, the troopers carefully observing it. He stepped up to
them. ‘That’s the cavalry, French Navy.’

‘What for?’ Kev asked.

‘We’re taking our choppers onto their aircraft carrier,
heading for Malta in the morning.’

‘We are?’ Mavo puzzled with a heavy frown.

‘Politics, boys. Best not to try and understand it, I
don’t.’ He shook his head.
The troopers watched with interest at the helicopter
landed nearby, three French pilots in flight suits stepping
out.

Airborne now and heading south-west from Catania along
the coast the sun started to set. The French pilot
communicated with the Charles de Gaulle, the man sat
now in the co-pilot’s seat. Johno, Mavo and Kev sat in the
back, catching a quick sleep; they were exhausted.

258

Anglo-French relations

A gentle bump and Johno opened his eyes, nudging Kev,
who’s head now lay on his shoulder. Through the
windows Johno could see rows of red, green and yellow
lights, the control tower brightly lit, the flight deck clear
except for three grey French helicopters.
Men in coloured waistcoats and helmets opened the
doors, causing a blast of aviation fuel and the roar of the
engines as they wound down. Johno stepped down,
sticking a cigarette on his lip, which was immediately
grabbed away by the French co-pilot, offering him a stern
look, as Johno registered the gentle movement of the ship
underfoot.
‘Sorry,’ Johno muttered as he followed the pilot.
Beyond the helicopter’s rotor blades he straightened up
and took in the massive control tower reaching up into the
black night’s sky.

Following the co-pilot he took the lift up to the bridge

deck and into a boardroom, the ship’s Captain stood
waiting with several of his senior officers – white shirts
with black and gold rank insignia on their epaulettes - plus
the DGSE officer Henri that Johno previously met at the
castle, the night of the cruise missile attack.

Johno shook his hand. ‘Hello again. No cruise missiles

tonight?’
Henri quickly explained to the officers, in French,
before introducing the Captain and his officers in turn.

‘Can we smoke in here?’ Johno asked.

‘In here, yes,’ the grey-haired captain answered,
heavily accented. ‘Many places … no.’ They all sat, Johno
lighting up. When he noticed that the table-map was of
Malta he put a finger to where to seminary was situated,

259

just west of the town of Rabat, the officers taking a keen
nautical note.
‘What is it that you propose, Herr Director?’ Henri
asked.

Johno considered the odd use of his title in front of the

French officers, also now considering the hard stare from
the ship’s captain. ‘Your Government … has kindly
offered its assistance in finding Guido Pepi, head of the
mafia group responsible for the deaths around Europe.’

Henri lowered his head slightly, he knew the truth, the

French officers glancing at each other.
Johno continued, ‘Who we believe is on Malta,
possibly trying to get a boat to Tunisia, Libya or
somewhere on the North African coast.’
Henri offered, ‘We have sent his details to all of our
contacts within the governments of those states.’
Johno nodded towards him as he took a drag. Facing
the captain he said, ‘The American 6

Fleet had hoped to

capture him, getting the credit.’ The French straightened, a
few words exchanged. ‘But we wish to keep this a
European operation,’ Johno quickly added.

The captain nodded his agreement. ‘What is it that you

would like us to do?’

‘Simple. A show of force to save any bloodshed.’

The captain and Henri exchanged a look.

‘A practical approach,’ Henri offered, sounding
enthused.
Johno thumbed towards the porthole. ‘Outside it’s
night. If we have many ships, a flotilla, around Malta at
dawn, our good friend will wake to find a nice view. He’s
staying at a cliff-stop seminary, so the view of the ships
might be enough to force a surrender without any shooting
on Maltese soil.’
‘We will have to notify the Maltese authorities,’ the
captain firmly stated.

260

Johno made eye contact, shaking his head. ‘No. Pepi
has people in the Maltese Government, bribed by the
mafia. They will be dealt with separately.’

The Captain did not look happy, a quick exchange with

Henri.
‘If I may,’ Johno cut in. ‘There are, are there not,
provisions with the European Union Charter for this type
of thing?’

‘I will have to check,’ Henri suggested

‘Do so,’ Johno firmly suggested. ‘And if there is a
problem, I will transfer to the American carrier that has
already invited us there.’
Henri stood, an unhappy glance at Johno before
stepping out.
‘If we move close to shore, what else would be
required?’ the Captain bluntly asked.
‘A helicopter assault on a Vatican seminary,’ Johno
firmly stated, a hard stare for the Captain.
The Captain blinked, then stood. ‘If you will excuse
me,’ he said as he stepped quickly out.
‘What will you need, exactly?’ the second officer
asked.

‘Fifty men to surround the seminary, which is built like

a castle. And don’t worry about the Maltese, they’ll get a
call as we launch from various European Governments,
putting the wind up them.’
The remaining officer refreshed coffees for everyone
as they waited.
Henri stepped back in with the captain a few minutes
later. ‘Our Government says that we will co-operate in
this. As you said, European Union provisions.’

They sat as a junior officer brought in a telex message,

handing it to the Captain. After a minute the Captain’s
previously stern demeanour lightened rapidly towards
surprise.

‘Something?’ Johno knowingly enquired.

261

‘The American Sixth Fleet has been placed at my
disposal,’ the Captain stated, passing the telex to Henri.
‘They stand ready to assist us as we require.’
‘Nice of them,’ Johno quipped as a startled Henri re-
read the telex. ‘So, gentlemen, why don’t we make some
plans, ready for dawn.’

An hour later Johno was led down to the officer’s galley,
finding his pilots, the troopers and K2 guards.

‘You look well fed,’ he noted as he sat.

‘Stuffed,’ Kev sighed. ‘Food on this wee tub’s better
than most fucking hotels.’

Johno checked his watch. ‘Four hours, so rest here, kip

if you can, then we give Malta the shock of its life.’

‘Is he there?’ Mavo stressed.

‘Think so, but no definite intel’ from our boys on the
ground, no positive ID. But the thermal imagers saw
someone Thomas’s size setting fire to some curtains -’
‘Definitely the wee little bastard!’ Kev suggested, the
men laughing.
‘They’ll probably be glad to see the back of him,’
Johno suggested. ‘Anyway, I had an idea.’

* * *

‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain
aboard this Air2000 flight. We’re now on final approach
to Malta and be will be landing in ten minutes. The
temperature on the ground in Malta today is a pleasant …
what in God’s name!’

Passengers glanced at each other before peering out of

the windows as a flight of F18s passed them closely.
Looking down they could see the assembled armada, the
huge aircraft carriers clear and distinct as the Air2000 737
passenger aircraft came in on approach from the south
west.

262

* * *

The seminary’s Abbot was awake just before dawn, his
concern over his guest having caused him a restless night.
From his room high up on the west wing he opened his
curtains and glanced at the single layer of cloud in the
distance, bisecting the dawn sky. Turning away from the
window he suddenly stopped, a heavy frown forming.
Inching around with a dreading and foreboding he turned
back to the window, his mouth falling open, an
involuntary gasp exploding from his lungs.
Guido Pepi woke with a start as the Abbot burst into
his room.

‘Get up!’ the Abbot roared. ‘See what you have done!’

‘What is it?’ Pepi asked, still groggy.

The Abbot strode purposefully across the large room
and opened the curtains fully. ‘Take a look. See what you
have brought down on us!’
With all the shouting Maria came in from the room’s
annex. She went immediately to the window, letting out a
scream. In a nightgown Pepi rushed to the windows,
stopping and staring at the horizon, pistol in hand.
The Abbot glanced at the pistol. Quietly, and
sarcastically, he said, ‘I do not believe, Senor Pepi, that
your pistol will be much use … against an aircraft carrier.’

The roar of jets shook the room, everyone looking up.

‘Get dressed!’ Pepi shouted at Maria as he grabbed his

clothes, Maria running into her room.
As he dressed, the roar continued, the Abbot stood
watching him, his hands clasped in front of himself. ‘It is a
very small island. And have you noticed the men on the
cliff top?’

Dressed, Pepi stepped briskly to the Abbot, their faces

almost touching. ‘They’ll give me the chair!’ he roared
with venom.

263

Maria ran out from her room, she and Pepi
immediately heading for the basement where Thomas was
being held, the roar of jets continuing. Pepi unlocked the
room holding Thomas, yanking on the door, which came
away from its frame and clattered to the floor as he stared
incredulously down at it.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ could be heard from the room, a
screwdriver thrown out, clattering around the stone floor.

Pepi thrust his pistol in. ‘Out! Now!’

‘Time for breakfast, Pepsi Cola?’ Thomas asked, a
black eye and several small cuts evident.
Pepi grabbed the boy, dragging him out and pushing
him along the corridor. With two guards at the front, two
behind, the group walked briskly down a narrow set of
curved stone steps to a sub-level. Unbolting an old iron
door they stepped rapidly through, the guards lifting
electric torches as Maria nudged Thomas along.
A hundred yards further along the damp passageway
they again unbolted a door, the little used metal squeaking
loudly in protest at having been disturbed. A tight spiral
staircase opened up, a thin shaft of sunlight throwing a
dull brown hue across the central core of the steps. With
their shoes clattering and echoing on the stone they
ascended quickly in single file.
The room they emerged into was a remnant of the
British Garrison from the Second World War, a gun
emplacement that had been sealed at the end of the war, its
hardware removed. The brown stone walls were adorned
with old graffiti, the air heavy with the stink of people
using it as a toilet. The sound of helicopters permeated the
stone room, a rusted metal grill in the ceiling letting in the
amber dawn light and the reverberations of rotor-blades.

Pepi stepped immediately to another rusted metal door,

unbolting it and pulling it back with a squeak. Stepping
towards the black interior he was soon flying backwards,
landing on his back and winded.

264

Two pistols came into the edge of the light, Thomas

ducking instinctively. Two shots hit the guard on the left,
echoing loudly, the tinkle of spent cases hitting the stone
floor. Two shots immediately went into the chest of the
guard on the right.
Maria screamed as four shots simultaneously sought
out the last two guards emerging from the stairwell. Maria
cowered down and covered her face, letting out another
scream.

Silence reclaimed the room.

Thomas lifted his head from where he had jumped
down. From the dark shadows the pistols became arms, a
black suit, then a distinctive moustache. His face lost
control and smiled so widely it hurt him. He jumped up
and ran across, hugging Johno, both pistols still firmly
facing forwards.
‘OK?’

Johno

asked.

‘Yes.’

Thomas let go as Johno stepped forwards, four

troopers rushing in, ‘double-tapping’ each slumbered
body. Maria and Pepi cowered as the shots echoed loudly
around the small chamber.
‘Clear!’ Mavo shouted, his weapon prone on the
stairwell, kneeling against the wall.
Johno lowered his pistols, lowering his head to
Thomas. ‘Did you behave for the nice people?’
‘No!’
‘Good

lad.’

‘I got the hinges off the door … but couldn’t open it.’

‘Never mind,’ Johno offered. ‘Practice makes perfect.’

He stepped to Pepi. Whilst holding a pistol toward Pepi’s
head he called, ‘Thomas.’ Thomas stepped closer. ‘A swift
kick.’

Thomas kicked Pepi in the stomach, knocking the wind

out of him. Bilbo kicked away Pepi’s pistol and dragged

265

him upright, Maria stood close, hunched over and looking
terrified.

Johno holstered one pistol, putting the other in a jacket

pocket. ‘OK, Pepsi, we’re short of time, so I’ll be brief.
You have three choices, so listen carefully. One: we kill
you and Maria right here - leave you for the rats. Two: we
take you back and give you both the chair, sat opposite
each other for maximum enjoyment. Three: you live to a
ripe old age in America.’
Pepi’s eyes widened at the last choice. ‘What do you
mean,’ he gasped, still winded. ‘America?’
‘CIA have offered you a change of identity and new
life for your family.’

‘In return for?’ Pepi knowingly asked. Johno waited,

Pepi finally answering his own question, ‘In return I
answer any question they have.’

‘Well done, you win a cookie. But it’s not that simple.

In order to get into the clutches of the CIA you first have
to be arrested by the French, who’re waiting up top.’

Pepi frowned. ‘French?’

Johno nodded. ‘Then a lengthy show-trial, all
European countries having a say, and what you’ll say at
the trial will be scripted by us and the French. Then, a
week after you are sentenced you appear to take your own
life –’

‘Ending up with the CIA,’ Pepi finished off.

‘And … your family,’ Johno emphasised. ‘So, what’s
it to be?’
Pepi reached across and held Maria’s hand. ‘What
would any father do for his child?’
Johno lit up. ‘He’d take the man who kidnapped his
kid and crucify him upside down,’ Johno suggested.
‘Which is what we did to Cardinal Ramon. Was it his men
who kidnapped Thomas?’

Pepi reluctantly nodded.

266

‘So, Pepsi, co-operate and you live. But piss us off any

step of the way and we crucify Maria … upside down.’
Pepi straightened, his chin out. He took a deep breath.
‘I am ready.’ Thomas kicked his former captor towards the
door.

At the surface the group were greeted by two-dozen K2
agents, twenty French commandos stood next to them in
the weak dawn light. Johno waved the French forwards, a
pair of handcuffs on Pepi a moment later, Maria led off by
the K2 agents; she would be a bargaining chip during the
lengthy trial.
With the sound of rotor blades coming from behind
nearby brownstone houses, Johno and the troopers stepped
towards the field from which their helicopters would pick
them up. He lifted his phone. ‘This is Johno to all K2 staff,
mission accomplished, Pepi arrested by the French,
Thomas is safe. All K2 agents in or around Malta are to
take a holiday here. Message to Helen - get on a plane for
Malta. Message to all naval captains - there is a free bar
tab and all hotel rooms will be paid for by the bank. Run
ashore!’
He stopped and turned to the troopers. ‘Dump your
weapons, let the Swiss boys take ‘em back. We’re going
for breakfast, followed by paddle, then a few drinkypoos.’

‘Sounds good,’ Kev enthused.

Johno’s phone trilled a few minutes later. ‘Yeah?’

‘Johno, it’s Stanton. All done and dusted?’

‘Yeah. French have Pepi, he’ll co-operate during the
trial, no mention of K2 – we’ll script him.’

‘You surprised me, Johno. I would have thought you’d

have burnt him alive yourself.’
‘Tempted, but got to see the bigger picture. Not least
getting our arses off the hook for all the carnage.’
‘A good tactical thinker, Johno. Some people here
want you on the top table.’

267

‘I know you want to rope me in, Boss, but let’s not
take long hot showers together, eh?’

Stanton laughed. ‘Get some rest, take a holiday!’

‘Funny you should say that.’ He hung up. Facing a K2

agent he said, ‘Get us a couple of taxis,’ the man running
off down the road. He leant against a rough stone wall,
lighting up, Thomas letting out a loud sigh as a crowd of
locals started to gather. ‘OK, short arse?’

‘Been awake for days,’ the boy complained. ‘I spent all

night on the door to the cell.’
‘And?’
‘I finished it just as they opened the door, it fell on
them.’
Johno and Kev roared with laughter, Bilbo resting an
elbow on the boy’s shoulder. Johno told the boy, ‘We’ll
stay here till you say you’ve had enough. OK?’

‘OK. Dad.’
‘It’s Herr Director … in front of the hired help.’
Kev trod on Johno’s foot.

268

Epilogue

Waking from his nap, having been firmly nudged by
Helen for his snoring, Johno lit up and watched the
boisterous activity around the pool, the hotel guests mixed
in with numerous K2 agents. Just as he was wondering
where Thomas had got to the lad walked out from the
hotel and onto the pool terrace, hand in hand with a girl
that looked both taller and older than him.

Johno tapped Helen’s leg and eased up, now wearing a

t-shirt and shorts, his feet and lower legs pink from mild
sunburn. Observing Thomas’ progress he could see that
the girl was impressed by how many people greeted
Thomas, the lad being quite mature in greeting them back.

As the young couple neared, Johno stood and stepped

away from the sun loungers. ‘Hey buddy.’

‘Johno, this is Oleysa.’
‘Oleysa? Ruski?’ Johno asked.
‘Da!’ the girl happily replied.
Johno put out a hand to shake. ‘Preev-yet. Kak dillar?’
The girl beamed. ‘Hroshow. Spaceba. Par Ruski?’
‘Chute chute,’ Johno offered, Helen now appearing at

his side.

‘This is Helen,’ Thomas introduced.
Helen exchanged several sentences of perfect Russian

with the girl, the young lady now feeling very welcome.
Facing Johno Helen said, ‘Oleysa is the same age as
Thomas, both … fifteen.’

Johno smiled broadly. ‘Both fifteen already, eh? How

quickly they grow up. Where do all the years go?’ Thomas
made eye contact: a firm, yet unspoken, warning issued
without his new girlfriend noticing.

In English Helen asked, ‘Your parents are here, this

hotel?’

269

‘No, in the Hilton,’ the girl responded in reasonable

English. ‘Tonight we go on Thomas’ grandpa’s yacht for
dinner.’

‘Grandpa’s yacht, eh?’ Johno muttered, a slight frown

forming, no clues as to anything about a yacht. ‘Does …
grandpa know?’

‘Grandpa Beesely is here with Otto,’ Thomas informed

them.

‘He is?’ Johno puzzled.
‘They arrived today, they’re in reception,’ Thomas

informed his guardians. ‘Anyway, we’ll be staying on the
yacht for a day or two.’

‘You will?’ Johno challenged. ‘Were we invited?’
Helen shot him a look.
Thomas shrugged. ‘I’ll see you in a day or two.’ He

turned, leading the girl off as Otto and Beesely appeared.
Most of the K2 agents around the pool stood, Beesely
annoyed at the formality and telling them all to relax.

‘Hey old fucker,’ Johno flatly offered as Beesely

motored his wheelchair closer. ‘How’s the … yacht?’

‘Was already here, apparently. We hired it this

morning when Thomas started nagging. Still, after what
he’s been through … least we could do.’

‘And noteworthy in the fact that he nagged you, not

us!’ Johno stated, a glance at Helen.

Otto peered over the balustrade at the view of the

horseshoe bay, the cliffs that backed it, the busy beach and
the inviting blue water.

‘Have you got yourselves rooms?’ Helen asked

Beesely.

‘Apartments in Portamaso Marina, next to the Hilton.

Very nice!’

‘When did you arrive?’ Johno asked, sitting on white

plastic chair and lighting up.

‘This morning,’ Beesely responded. ‘Right after the

big meeting - in Basel, of all places.’

270

‘Big meeting?’ Helen repeated, Otto now closing in.
‘We did not want to bother you with it,’ Otto informed

them, stood in his suit, his hands clasped behind his back.
‘We met with the representatives of Great Britain, France,
Germany, Switzerland, Austria and Italy – to discuss the
Basel assets we found and seized.’

‘They weren’t happy,’ Johno knowingly suggested, a

slight grin evident.

‘We knew it would be an issue,’ Otto explained. ‘So

we… pre-empted the matter.’

‘We used our trump card,’ Beesely explained with a

smile. ‘The bank society! They came up with cash, forty
billion odd, paid off the interested governments for the
share capital of the various corporations. In return, the
society got the shares at around fifty-percent. Since some
of the corporations were under investigation –’

‘Their share prices plummeting,’ Otto put in.
‘- seemed a good deal,’ Beesely finished off.
‘But we did not tell them about the gold, cash, jewels

and art-works we recovered,’ Otto stated with a reserved
Swiss smirk. ‘Besides, dealing with Basel cost us a lot of
money, almost one and half billion pounds. And, so far,
your generosity on this island has cost us two million
pounds.’

‘How?’ Helen asked, staggered.
Otto explained, a disapproving look for Johno, ‘Johno

has run a tab at every bar and restaurant that serves the
sailors visiting, as well as hotel rooms … and shops.’

‘Boys helped us, so we help them,’ Johno insisted.

‘Besides, all goes into the local economy.’ He faced
Beesely. ‘How’re the French and Yanks getting along?’

Beesely tipped his head and smiled. ‘Why don’t you

ask them?’

‘Johno,’ came a deep, rich voice.
Johno swivelled his head around, finding Mr Stanton

and Mr Grey stood in casual suits, two plain-clothed

271

bodyguards hanging back. He stood. ‘Well I’ll be
buggered.’ They shook, Stanton noting Johno’s t-shirt:
Screw with me – I’ll take your toys away. ‘How long you
around?’ Johno asked Stanton as their visitor shook
Helen’s hand.

‘Couple of days. Me and Mr Grey are going diving on

Gozo, something I’ve been meaning to try for a very long
time.’

Johno faced Helen. ‘I dive. I could teach you how to

go down on an old wreck.’

Stanton roared with laughter, cut short but Helen’s

look.

‘Why is that funny?’ Otto asked Beesely, everyone

shooting Otto quick looks, even Helen.

‘Dinner, 8pm,’ Stanton told the group. ‘Admirals and

Captains will be joining us. Not least to thank you
personally, Johno, for getting their enlisted men so drunk.
Maltese Prime Minister will be there, although I doubt
he’ll be thanking you – they’ve cancelled all police leave.’

‘Tell him we’ll pay for the damage,’ Johno quickly

offered.

‘What damage?’ Stanton asked as everyone focused on

Johno.

‘So … they haven’t noticed yet. Never mind then.’
‘Johno?’ Beesely pressed.
‘Some of the sailors got kicked out of the hotels, slept

in the Pope-Eye theme village, which seems to have
collapsed under the weight, bits slipping into the sea.’

Stanton rolled his eyes. ‘I think we’ll adopt the naval

attitude of don’t ask, don’t tell.’

‘Maltese Government … OK, with us?’ Johno gingerly

posed.

Stanton exchanged an uneasy look with Beesely.

‘They’re down three Ministers that all happened to be in
the same car wreck. News of their fella, Borg, being
crucified upside down didn’t make the papers.’

272

Ten minutes later, with Stanton departed, a K2 guard
walked over to Johno. Now sat sipping beer, Otto and
Beesely sat shaded by a huge umbrella. ‘Sir, your special
guest is here.’

‘Ah, good,’ Johno enthused. ‘Send him over.’

With the guard retreating Helen asked, ‘Special guest?’

‘Man we owe a lot to,’ Johno enigmatically stated.

As the cardinal walked out in his red robes, both the
guests and the K2 agents sat up and took notice. He was
led around to Johno’s party, Johno standing and arranging
a chair for him, amused by the looks on the others’ faces.
‘Cardinal,’ Johno offered as they shook. ‘Please, have
a seat.’
They both sat, Johno introducing the cleric to the
group. The man was in his sixties, bald and heavily
tanned, a weatherworn face. Otto, Beesely and Helen just
sat staring, mesmerised by a catholic cardinal in their
midst.
‘This is Cardinal Schapphaust,’ Johno said. ‘If I’m
pronouncing it correctly.’

‘A Swiss name?’ Otto puzzled.

‘Yes,’ the cardinal responded, his English accented. ‘I
was born in Basel.’

Helen and Beesely exchanged looks.

The cardinal noticed. ‘My father was the Basel
Groups’ bookkeeper,’ the cleric solemnly announced. He
took an audible breath, his chest rising. ‘The man who
stole the treasure … and the files.’

Otto straightened, staggered. ‘Mein gott.’

Johno explained, ‘The good cardinal here approached
me the last time I was on Malta, spilt the beans on Basel
and gave us an edge. Actually, swam to me when I was in
the water … in the bay here.’

‘How?’ Beesely asked.

273

‘Front crawl,’ Johno offered, getting a stern look back
from Beesely.
The cardinal focused on Beesely, suddenly saddened.
‘I have been looking for you for forty years.’
Beesely frowned his lack of understanding. ‘You
were? Why?’
‘My father was a Nazi during the war, something I
never knew. Well, never knew till 1963,’ the cleric softly
explained. ‘And … he was an important figure in the
Basel Group, close friends with your Gunter, Shue and
others. But I like to think that my … convictions helped
turn him away from them. He disappeared after the death
of my mother in 1962, the treasure and the files
disappearing a few weeks later.’
The cardinal took in the expectant faces, Johno sat
looking away and smoking. ‘A year later he sent me a
letter, telling me that he was dying and begging that I give
him absolution. I found him here in Malta, in Valetta,
hiding himself in a squalid apartment. He’s actually buried
here, you know. Buried by the state as an unknown
foreigner.’

The group listened intently, hung on every word.

The cardinal continued, ‘He was in a bad way, but not

dying. A lack of food, too much alcohol, and a heavy
burden to bear aided his poor health … but I gave him
absolution anyway to ease his mind. He kept saying,
buried next to the Nazi treasure, the Templar treasure, are
files of great value. The list.
‘Of course, I had no idea what it meant.’ He lowered
his head, running a hand over his bald plate. ‘But then …
then I read the notes he had made, the notes that detailed
his actions in the war, the Basel Group, the treasure and
the list. And … what he had done to those who had helped
him move it.’

274

He took a deep breath, heaving a loud sigh. ‘I aided
him on his journey to meet his maker, something I shall
pay for in the afterlife.’

Helen, Otto and Beesely exchanged looks.

The cardinal added, ‘The last line on his notes said,
find Beesely.’

‘Find me?’ Beesely questioned.

‘Or did he mean Robert Beesely?’ Otto queried.

‘I think he meant Morris Beesely,’ the cleric insisted,
focusing on Beesely. ‘Since my father killed the man,
Robert Beesely, your brother.’

They held their gaze on each other for several seconds.

‘How did you know to contact Johno?’ Helen asked.

‘Ten years ago I heard the name Basel Group, which I

decided was worth investigating. I have spent –’ He
sighed. ‘- the last … torturous ten, fifteen years doing
things that I am ashamed of, in order to work my way into
those areas of the Vatican that had links with the mafia,
and with Basel. In particular, the facility here. I have been
… assisting Basel here for five or more years. And, during
that time, I learnt a great deal. I became quite close to
Guido Pepi, who was a little loose tongued when drunk
and in my care.’
He forced a weak smile. ‘And two months ago he
mentioned the name, Beesely. I got to learn of your little
war, and what was at the heart of it – and who started it all
off.’
‘Your father … and your father’s stolen treasure,’
Beesely commented, no blame in his voice.

‘And the list,’ the cleric softly added.

‘So you made a choice,’ Helen suggested.

‘I made that choice a long time ago, when I learnt of
the treasure. I was just waiting for the right time. When
Johno came here to Malta a few weeks ago we were
warned to look out for him. Pepi seemed to have a great
deal of respect, or fear, of Johno – he spoke of him often.’

275

‘So you made contact,’ Helen put it.

‘Yes, and … brought to a conclusion sixty years of
misery, death and destruction.’

‘We added to that,’ Johno softly admitted.

The cardinal studied him. ‘I can’t say I approve of
what you did, but I also don’t know how else they would
have been stopped. Groups reform when you remove just a
few members. They became accustomed to the power and
money, people always do.’
He reached across and held Beesely’s hand. ‘I am
sorry about you brother.’ Beesely simply nodded, deep in
thought. The cardinal added, ‘I think my father wanted me
to find you, so that you could have found the files. But I
had no idea who your were, or how to find you, or the
significance of the list.’
‘Don’t let it weigh on your mind, Cardinal,’ Beesely
firmly offered. ‘Seems you’ve carried enough weight
around.’
The cardinal held his gaze on Beesely for a moment
then stood. ‘I am off to Africa, to spend my last years
there, trying to do some good.’
Johno, Otto and Helen stood. Johno said, ‘That
foundation you’re going to work for will be well funded.’
‘Thank you. I will try and see that the money is well
spent.’ With polite, formal smiles at the group the cardinal
bowed his head and left.

Helen let out a heavy sigh. ‘Jesus.’

They sat back down.

‘Some other news,’ Johno began. ‘General Sir
Christopher Rose had a heart attack last night. He was
found in a hotel room with a prostitute and some cocaine.’

‘What?’ Helen gasped.

‘Johno?’ Beesely demanded.

Johno made eye contact with Beesely, holding the look

for several seconds. ‘He said something he shouldn’t
have.’

276

‘He was dirty?’ Otto gasped.

‘Never!’ Helen snapped.
‘Of a kind,’ Johno informed them, checking his nails.

‘You see, when he approached me –’ He focused on Otto.
‘- day you arrived in England, he gave me some hints
about the big picture, the files and the treasure. Didn’t say
where it was, didn’t say that much – just lots of hints. But
the one … odd thing he did say, was about not trusting
Beesely.’

‘No surprise there,’ Beesely scoffed.

‘The odd paradox was,’ Johno explained to Helen,
‘that Beesely’s saving my life in Kosovo made everyone
trust him even less than they did in the sixties, despite the
fact that they kept using him for dodgy work. Even made
me suspect him of being up to no good.’

‘Which he was,’ Helen put in. ‘With the Lodge.’

‘So General Rose didn’t trust him,’ Johno repeated.
‘But I didn’t realise till recently the significance of
something he said.’ He turned to Beesely. ‘He didn’t just
tell me I couldn’t trust you, he said I couldn’t trust you…
on this particular matter for definite.’

Beesely’s face displayed his lack of understanding.

Johno suggested, ‘He knew about your brother,
Robert.’
Beesely straightened in his wheelchair, but said
nothing.
‘Christ,’ Helen let out. ‘If we had known the full
picture at the start –’

‘We could have won this war four months ago,’ Johno

adamantly suggested.
‘I went right through Beesely’s record,’ Otto insisted.
‘Nothing about his brother in MI6.’

‘So did I,’ Helen added. ‘Nothing about Robert.’

‘And yet,’ Johno began, ‘with Robert’s connection
with Gunter, Basel and the list, he should have had a file a
foot thick!’

277

‘They knew,’ Beesely let out, his head lowered. ‘Not
MI6, but some splinter group of old boys. Possibly the
director, back in 1962.’
‘General Rose was more interested in the list than the
threat to the UK,’ Johno suggested. ‘He could have used it
around Europe.’
Helen sighed and shook her head. ‘Groups within
groups, secrets inside secrets, lies on top of lies.’
Johno tipped his head towards her. ‘It’s been said
before, love!’

If you like what you read, please donate a dollar via
Paypal, to account

gwresearch@aol.com

. The more the

writer receives, the more time he can dedicate to writing,
to produce more for you to read. You could alternatively
buy a download on lulu.com for $2. Thank you.

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