Wednesday night
London
Finding Goran standing at the door of the meetings room had always been a bad omen for Konrad. He knew that the Serb loathed to cross his path with the associates or other bankers and put as much distance as possible between he and them.
“My Griffin,” Goran only said and Konrad nodded and walked directly to his office, telling the young secretary to entertain the next two persons.
Konrad sat behind his large desk and Goran imitated him. “A situation arose in Madrid, sir. The Komtur was stabbed six days ago.”
“Why I was not informed before?”
“His people only found it out three days ago. They're questioning the culprits as we speak.”
“Who's his replacement?” Konrad asked, digesting the bad news. A direct attack on him could make his whole structure crumble. Komturen were simply sacred and always highly protected.
“He's alive and on the way of recovery. My cousin, Majardze was always a very strong man.” Goran said softly. “I've sent uncle Mladic to control the situation as his Georgians respect him enormously.”
“Was he not the one who...?”
“Yes, December 2005, near Madrid. He took care of the remaining traitor. Guntram only knows his uncle died in a car accident and is buried there.”
