TS3 Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

Guntram de Lisle's diary 

May 27^th, 2014

It's been no longer than 24 hours since Konrad’s arrest and I still don't get the full picture. Maybe I'm stupid because I can't shake off this feeling of complete eeriness clouding over me. I mean, nothing makes any sense here. Even Fedérico, who's used to get into shit more frequently than me, needed to ask John if he could explain what was written on the press. 

For some unknown reason, the Swiss General Prosecutor is doing exactly what the 36^th District (Manhattan) attorney tells him to do. Konrad (and the whole board) have been accused of aggravated money laundering of funds coming from several arms dealers. Fortunately, the physical evidence (of that one) is thin; only a few photos of people entering the bank, according to Gandini. He was the only person who was able to read the indictment. They were not even allowing him to take notes.

I have a pretty good idea about the time those photos were taken and who's responsible for them. I'm not in a hurry to bail Goran out. He should sit there and think on his deeds. 

The second charge is actively helping American customers to evade taxes. That's not a crime here, but it is in the States and the sum is frankly large; over a 100 billion U$S hidden everywhere. There, the Americans have a lot of physical evidence and we are “toasted” as Gandini told me. E-mails, videos, recorded phone conversations of our people. There are some mentions of colluding to manipulate the gold market, but that's rubbish according to Gandini. Konrad's not even a huge player like HSBC or Barclays. Konrad isn't even sitting at the London Gold Market Fixing. Perhaps his traders were a bit aggressive in their OTC exchanges but that's legal. Next year things will be freer when the daily phone calls are over. 

The most important problem is the extradition order issued in Konrad's name. As my father says, we have to stop this mess from escalating and prevent his extradition. He's dead if he goes to America. 

In the meantime, FINMA (along with the SEC) closed us down in prevention of their investigation. We can't even set a foot in the offices at Banhoffstrasse or Manhattan and New Jersey. At least the London and the Frankfurt offices are still open and I'm diverting as much as I can to Singapore. I trust nobody here.  

I have to find a way to press the Swiss into a negotiation. All those puppets who are now cooing in front of the cameras, telling how incorruptible they are, were not so clean a little while ago. Most of them are mentioned in the “doomsday memory card”.

Uncle Sam wants money but I still don't know how much it will be. He'd probably want the names of the account holders and we can't give that away without breaking the 1937 Swiss laws. Michel says that Konrad is in less trouble than the Americans who used his banking services, but the fine is going to be high, once we kill the extradition order off. 

We must reach an off courts settlement, no matter the costs. Going to trial could mean the end of us. 

I'm not allowed to see Konrad at all. Only his lawyers in two or three days’ time and I'm getting more and more nervous. Michel tells me that they do it so I make a mistake and they can finish us off. 

I'm completely alone in this. Ferdinand, Michel, Adolf, Albert and many others are in jail. Only the second line was spared and they're running around like headless chickens. Even if I don't hold any positions in the bank, I'm called every two seconds to solve their problems. I went to the university and that was all! I never worked in a bank! 

All of Konrad's “friends” (associates) disappeared overnight. Many are furious with us because their assets are frozen and will sue us. The only thing I can do, at the moment, is to offer them to recover their shit from the vaults that are outside our main building. Monika is organizing it. 

That woman is worth her weight in gold and platinum even. No matter if her husband is in prison (“Don't worry dear,” she told me- “he's a big boy and was arrested in the past for indecent exposure or something like that”) she's doing all what she can to help me. I mean, she filters anyone who can be problematic to me and knows up to the littlest detail in the bank or about Konrad's companies. 

The good thing is that all his industries are safe and untouched along with all the money he has outside Europe. 

That asshole of a judge even froze my accounts and I was left with a 10.000 Swiss Francs monthly allowance. Michel is fighting over it but I'd love to have a clue about how Am I going to pay all the people we employ with this.

"They're just pressuring you because they have nothing on Lintorff's side," Michel keeps telling me but he's not the guy who has to pay several millions per month just to keep the staff and the maintenance of the estates alive. Friederich just told me how much is it and... I don't even have so much money in my bank account. 

That asshole of a judge tells me "he's investigating" and that he can't even set a bail or anything for the time being. Next time Heiko Heinemann stops by our home to shake his tail at Konrad, I'm poisoning the soup. 

I can't fire our people or close the houses. It will be more expensive than any other thing. I can't touch anything in the accounts because they're frozen and to bring money from outside might cause another problem. 

For once, my father and Gandini agree on everything. As Gandini was the lawyer who saved my skin in the Venice mess, Michel loves him and both of them hate Merenghetti -our star lawyer now in jail-. Gandini's strategy is to face the storm and let the prosecutors become nervous when they find nothing (no so sure). 

Because of one of those ironies of life, Konrad did use Wolfensohn and Partners services in the late 90s and most of his offshore companies were created by them. To get to them, the Americans and the Swiss would need like battling in the courts for fifty years in forty different countries. They are virtually untraceable (just like Constantin's were and I only know he has(d) some money in the Bahamas and I'm not even sure of that because he changed many things over the years) 

To be suspicious about something isn't the same thing as to prove that something. My father hates Konrad but he's a professional and Gandini tells me that the money there is "nuke-proof". 

In short, I'm not supposed to touch a single cent from there because it's a bad idea to pull a thread from a quite complicated scheme; you know, someone might well follow it and make a scandal on the press, nothing else but that’s enough for us at the moment. 

My children's future depends on it.

I'm worried sick about how big the bail (and fine) will be. The Swiss government won't go as far as to convict Konrad for doing what they all do. It's not our fault that Americans are forced to pay taxes even if they reside in another country. There was a real reason why Charles Chaplin's wife renounced to her citizenship and it went beyond politics. Vevey and London are full of exiled Americans, hiding their money from Uncle Sam. 

But a one-hundred billion lot is hard to explain and we will be fined for that. I have no hopes in that sense and I'm sorry for the customers but there is no avarice without penalty. Grasp all, lose all. 

What really drives me mad is the press. I have a "fan club" of journalists camping at our entrance. I can't leave the house without being followed by six or seven cars. They're dying to get the picture of me entering in the prison. Our security teams are on the brink of a collapse and soon, one of the Serbs will beat the hell out of a journalist. 

I can't afford that, so the Serbs will have to be neutralized for the time being. The last I need right now, is an idiot sent to the hospital because he jumped over the fence and the dogs attacked him. 

I feel like shit because I had to confiscate the boys' mobile phones. On Monday, they stayed at home to avoid trouble at the school but trouble followed us home instead. 

Three parents, who think they're over the law just because their children go to school with ours, began to write messages to Klaus and Karl and they were quite offending. My twins found out where their father really was. It doesn't take a genius to understand the phrase "your father is a crook who stole my dad's money" or "hope he rots in jail.". Klaus and Karl began to wail and Ratko took the mobiles away. I didn't find it out till late night when he told me about it and I read the messages. 

"Dachs, you have a lot in your hands at the moment," Ratko told me when I asked why I wasn't informed earlier. I told him to get the boys new phones and asked Friederich to speak with the principal so she sends some homework for them. 

The parents (and their children) won't leave us alone. When money is involved, there are no innocent parties around. My boys are a target and fuck if they're minors. I will have to keep the twins out of the school for the time being. 

I had to go to them and break the news. 

"Guntram, is it true?" Karl Maria asked me and I couldn't lie to him.

"It's a misunderstanding with the police," I replied. "We will fix it as soon as we can." 

"Did papa steal money?" 

"Of course he didn't!" I said and both looked relieved. "The Americans say that someone in the bank helped other Americans to avoid paying their taxes and as papa is the main responsible for the bank, he must explain what has happened." 

"Not paying taxes is bad," Klaus said. "That's what papa says." 

"We pay everything in full." I said firmly. "We owe nothing to the tax office." That's true. In that sense, we are clean as a newborn but I'm thinking that perhaps some things are declared in Luxembourg, Andorra or in Liechtenstein. All of the cash is in safe havens and it must be there for a reason. 

"Matthias says papa ran away with his papa's money." 

"Their money is in the bank. Exactly where they left it." I said firmly. "The judge has it. Matthias parents should go to him, explain from where they got their money and he will give it back in the blink of an eye." 

"When does papa come home?" 

I didn't know what to say to that because I don't know. In theory, they have 72 hours to reach any conclusions and release Konrad on bail or not. "Soon, the lawyers are doing their best to sort this mess out."

"You will not be attending school this week." I said and they looked quite happy with the news. 

"School is bad," Kurt said and I don't know where he was hiding, but he heard the whole thing. 

"You should already be sleeping." I told him. 

"I can't," he replied and I steered him out of his brothers' bedroom while he loudly protested. "Your stories aren't good. Papa's are better." 

I felt like shit because Kurt is happier with Konrad than with me. I'm the ogre of the family, and not of the nice kind like Shrek. I marched Kurt back to his room and went back to Klaus and Karl and they were less nervous than before. I explained them everything as best as I could and that eased their fears. Tomorrow they will work together with their small brother and I hope they can survive him.  

Those bloody parents; they can stand in line to get their money back. As long as it concerns me, I know nothing of the matter. I'm the stupid, sensitive gay and they should go to the judge to get it back. I'm more and more tempted to declare the European equivalent of a 501 over the bank and fuck its two hundred years of history. 

But at the moment, I need some four million to pay the staff. 

That without counting the fifty lawyers team bill. 

* * *

Ten square meters were less spacious than Konrad von Lintorff had ever imagined. It was one of those numbers that you read about but you couldn't begin to comprehend until you must cope with them. 

A ten square meters cell was too small for any human being. 

The cell was claustrophobic and specially designed to humiliate the prisoner was Konrad's first impression. All what he had seen so far was designed, conceived and executed in order to bring any ordinary man down. 

'My father had it worse. He was on the run from the Russians in Stalingrad and then in Berlin.' 

'And he lived to tell.' 

The white paint in the walls was nerve racking. There was nothing written on them, as he would have expected. Some kind of human presence, even in the form of a "fuck the pigs" graffiti or something like this. No, this cell was sterile. 

'Please Lord, don't let them go against my kitten. He wouldn't survive it.' 

Once more, his eyes wandered towards the open white lavatory glued against the wall and he thought what kind of architect could have devised such an unaesthetic design. 'Don't complain so much because my father had not even that,' he chastised himself. 'Didn't even know if opening his fly to pee was a good idea at that time.'  

'They're only putting pressure on me because the Americans have something against them. All of this is ridiculous. We were already cooperating since months and they were achieving more in that way than what they will get now.'

The lack of information was a slow torture for him. He had been taken to the precinct and was interrogated once more by the prosecutor who had finally decided to book and arrest him, frustrated beyond tears because Konrad had closed his mouth like a stubborn clam. Despite that the police officers had been very professional and respectful to Konrad, the whole situation of having his picture taken and his fingers dirtied with ink, had been humiliating but not humbling. 

Konrad was filled with a murderous rage and by the general prosecutor's changing expressions, the man was beginning to realize how big was the hole he had dug all by himself. The young prosecutor in charge of the interrogation was only repeating the questions the Americans had written down for him and was totally clueless of the geyser under his feet. Konrad had preferred to let him speak, threaten, negotiate with him while Konrad silently contemplated who could have done this to him. He only collaborated with the policemen to fill out his booking forms. 

He had been taken in a police car to the building in Rotwandstrasse to one of the twenty-five individual cells usually reserved for women and minors. Konrad had heard some faint feminine shouts and his fury had increased even more as he had realized that he had been locked with the women. 

To him, that was the most humiliating experience of his life. He barely registered that he had been given prison fatigues and offered breakfast after a long night of endless questions he didn't bother to answer. 

The second guard who had come with lunch, had left the tray on the small door opening but he hadn't touched it too, leaving it to become cold. The man had returned an hour later and had taken the things away, asking Konrad if he wanted a book from the library. Konrad had refused but the man had left a bible instead. 

Inside the book there was a crenel cross drawn on the first page but Konrad had returned the book without making any kind of comments to its round owner.  He wasn't going to fall for that old trick. 

He couldn't trust anyone in this place. 

* * * 

May 30^th, 2014

By Friday, Guntram's patience was at its end. Not only all visits to his husband were forbidden but the judge and the prosecutor seemed to be in no hurry to make any decisions. Only Gandini had been able to see Konrad for a few minutes in the prison and told him “the Duke is in good spirits considering the situation.” Guntram had never seen such a poor liar in a lawyer. 

To make things worse, he was overloaded with work. Walking in Konrad's shoes had never been in his list of priorities for this life and the shoes were probing to be two or three sizes bigger than his own. 

Despite that the bank was closed and the hedge funds trading operations suspended, Guntram still had to deal with the insurance company and a myriad of medium size industries he had never heard about. Since when did Konrad have so many interests in the Ruhrgebiet? Or why did he have to sit in so many director boards of large companies? 

At least, Guntram understood now why Konrad was such a fan of Daimler or Audi. With his many car purchases, he was only helping to boost his own companies' results. 

“Darling, the duke is like a child with the bank,” Monika had told Guntram on Tuesday morning, when he was on the brink of a collapse at the sight of a mountain built out of dossiers prepared for him. “His father sat there, therefore he loves to be there all the time, but the bank represents less than a third of his assets. Over the years, he preferred to leave behind more profitable investments like those in the hedge funds and focus in the industry, agriculture, gold, some oil fields in America, and the bank, of course. 

“What about all what I've seen in the High Frequency Trading section? Doesn't it belong to him? Does it?” Guntram was not even sure where he was standing any more. So many figures and names that he couldn't even start to memorize them. 

“Yes, it does, but he always prefers to trade his profits for something more “solid” as he calls it.” 

Guntram could only turn over the pages, reading and trying to memorize the name of the companies as he wondered how on earth was he going to manage all this. Outside, in the garden in front of the library, he could hear his children noisily play with the new dog. 

“Something pressing, Monika?” he asked. “I really don't know where to start.” 

“I'd leave the board meetings alone, dear. Those are large companies and they almost run by themselves. There's a voting on Thursday in Frankfurt, but you can name a representative like the Duke does.” 

“Glad to hear it,” mumbled Guntram as his hand quickly turned over the fifty something pages folder. “Any urgent problems before I start to read all this?” 

“Well, there is some unrest with the trade unionists from the Sonnenblumen supermarkets,” Monika admitted slowly. “They're concerned about their funding after all what happened. This green-people can be very loud, dear.” 

“It's been only two days,” Guntram answered upset. 

“The Duke was regretting that particular takeover many times in the past. Ecological supermarkets aren't such a buoyant business and their providers are very special people, Guntram. Six CFO's quitted last year.” Monika admitted. “I don't know who else to send there now and the Duke said he didn't hate anyone so much as to transfer him there.” 

“What is their problem?” Guntram asked dismayed. 

“Well, they've been reading the press and...” Guntram looked at her expectantly and Monika seemed to feel more uncomfortable than before. 

“You can tell me anything, Monika. Speak frankly.” 

“The employees don't want to work for us anymore. They say that... the Duke trades with arms dealers and kills babies. They want to buy their shares back or they'll strike and the providers won't sell anything else to us. These people don't work only for money, dear.” 

“Buy back?” 

“They used to be a large cooperative before they ran into trouble and the Duke bought them over five years ago. Some are still upset that a big institution like ours took them over no matter if he maintained the working conditions as they were. This company is a financial black hole.” 

“Why do we keep it?” Guntram asked puzzled that Konrad would be losing money and his patience with such recalcitrant people. As far as he knew, Konrad hated the Green party and ecologists. 

“Because he really believes in the environment and in a vision of low cost ecological products. He totally hates GMO products and does his best to keep them out of normal people's lives. These supermarkets need around five million euros by the end of the month.” 

“They are in red numbers and don't want to work?” 

“And they're quite loud in the press, dear.” 

“I have to stop it before we give journalists more cause to talk,” sighed Guntram as an unknown fury grew inside him: boycotting Konrad after he had respected their working conditions? Destroying the company to buy it back cheaper? “Get me the one in charge here.” 

“Very well,” Monika answered a bit surprised by the dry tone Guntram had used and how he was now ignoring her totally as he read the papers with a fierce concentration. 

By the afternoon, Guntram had met with more people in one day than in the whole previous year. CFO's, CEO's, accountants, lawyers and other people who just assumed that he knew all about their problems and would solve them immediately. The headache pounding his temples was merciless and he felt exhausted. For a man who always needed to take his time to make any decisions, he had been forced to solve many situations in less than twenty minutes. He found himself impatiently listening to people and then, answering with a dry “yes”, “no” or a “this should be stopped at once”. 

Guntram was in a sour mood at the end of the day. Furious because of two “friends”, associates even, had tried to dupe him into investing in some obviously ruinous activities of theirs. 

'So, I'm the official dodo, according to everybody.' 

The deepest wound to his ego was the look of pure surprise written in their interlocutors' faces when he was able to see through their lies or deceptions. Guntram had found himself being surrounded by sharks looking for the slightest trace of blood. 

Wednesday was no better and Thursday was worse. He spent the whole day working and wondering how he would be able to get this mammoth of a ship to a safe port. The possibility of a full embargo mercilessly hammered his head and he feared that all the companies would get a controller or that he wouldn't be able to pay the salaries or be forced to close something down and fire people. 

'Dumb me was troubled because of a simple portrait. I'm playing with ordinary people's salt and bread here.'  

On Friday Guntram exploded when his father told him that the judge had decided to extend the investigation for a month and refused to set a bail for Konrad and the other detainees. 

“Really?” Guntram asked coldly and watched how Gandini squirmed nervously in his chair 

“This is completely legal, Guntram,” Michel answered softly. Of all the people in the legal team, he had been chosen to break the news to Guntram. “It's a very complex investigation. The officers who are working 24 hours a day to see if the extradition can be granted have no material time to go all over this... Everest of papers.” 

“And that's supposed to be my problem?” 

“In a way, it's a good thing because the more they look, we have more chances to prove our innocence. This only proves that the Swiss Authorities don't believe the Americans' allegations or won't do all what they want,” Gandini spoke for the first time. 

“While the Duke sits in a prison and our companies go bankrupt.” Guntram said. “What happens if we object to the judge?” 

“If we had any grounds to do that,” Michel answered, “another magistrate would be named and he will have to start all over again. Not a very good idea.” 

“Can we go to a higher court?” 

“No, everything has been perfectly done. To the book.” Michel replied. “Judge Heinemann knows his trade.” 

“Thank you very much, gentlemen.” Guntram dismissed them and Michel rose an eyebrow to him, making him feel a bit uncomfortable. “Mr. Lacroix, my youngest son wanted to show you his newest pet,” he quickly said to soothe his father's wounded pride. “Perhaps you'd like to stay for lunch too, along with Dr. Gandini, of course.” 

“No, thank you. I have to return to the office to start with the documents we will present on Monday.” Gandini hurriedly gathered his papers and left the library as Michel morosely rose from his chair and took a look at the volumes hidden behind the glass door vitrines. 

Guntram took another folder from the desk and opened it. “I'm afraid I can't join you, Michel. I'm overloaded here. Dieter will take you upstairs.”

Michel said nothing as he gauged at his engulfed in his reading son. Guntram only read as he took small notes on a pad with a fountain pen. 

“You have the same look your grandfather had each time he had decided to do something... harsh.” Michel said finally. “Do nothing. The Order methods won't work in this case. Heinemann is open to suggestions.”

“I have no ruling over the Order. Besides, it's their problem if their leader is in jail, don't you think?” 

“Are you still sore with Pavicevic?” 

“A little,” admitted Guntram. “I'm worried about Konrad and I don't care what happens with the rest of the Order. They're running away as fast as they can. Can you believe that Halversten didn't call me back? Or that Vordermann had the nerve to threaten me with a lawsuit if I don't return his money by the end of the month? Nobody, not even our closest friends, phoned me to say: “Hi, do you need something?” like any normal person would do.”  

“All of your friends are gone since their money is trapped in the bank. Sometimes I fail to remember if the phrase was “Business is war” or “War is business”, Guntram. It's a logical step that you're under attack now. Wolves can smell the blood, my child.” 

“Wolves? Hyenas I'd rather say. What if we get embargoed?”

“It can happen, but you have more money out of the country. You must start thinking which pawns you're going to sacrifice. The bank is dead and nothing will resurrect it.” 

“I know. The hedge funds are more dead than Templeton's,” Guntram growled. “I don't even try to see how to keep them alive. I've already told the accountants to start calculating the amounts of the compensations and to the lawyers to revise contracts and statutes.” 

“The old 501 would be the best in this case. Who knows? Maybe if you have many Americans trapped there you might even get your own Fanny Mae solution.” 

“We're not that “Too Big to Fail” kind of hedge fund. Nobody is going to bail out millionaires.” 

“You not, but your friends yes. Let them fall.”

“I've ordered to start closing down everything we have there in an orderly way. I even had to call the old retired traders to help the young ones. These men are better than a thousand computers. Maybe we'll be able to return a 30% of the invested capital.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Because we can't touch a single cent of what we have in New York. It's all locked. Also, there are investments with a shitty liquidity like houses and tenants. I'll have to look elsewhere to get some of their cash back.”

“No. Why are you concerned about returning the money? It's not your problem any more. You're not even the CEO of those monsters and you could get into legal trouble for making those decisions. Both funds are Manhattan based, so leave it up to the people who started the mess.” 

“It's an awful amount of money, Michel.” 

“It's an investment and we all are old enough as to understand what a negative return is. Anyway, as your lawyer I can tell you that you're not even supposed to touch that money. If it is lost, the investors should go against that Manhattan fiscal attorney and the judge who wrote and signed that extradition order. Ben Bernanke and the whole SEC have more to say in the matter than you do, Guntram. My humble opinion is that the Americans will pay your investors back under the table before facing the fall of Griffin Investments and Capital Traders. Are they insured by Günstrow Insurance?”

“No. Konrad used several other companies much bigger than Günstrow Insurance.” 

“Then, they should pay the 500 billion back. Not you. Have you signed anything?” 

“No, only verbal orders in secure lines. No e-mails.” 

“Good. You're not as naïve as I thought.” 

“I live with Konrad since 2002. I will only focus on the private owned companies then.” 

“Exactly, this is included in the attorney power Lintorff signed for you. If anyone cries, you tell force majeure, mon petit. You can't return the money until all this legal situation is solved and remember, in that case your investors are creditors who come after the government in the returning the money queue.”

“Thank you, Michel.” 

“You have to look after yourself, Guntram. You're overstressed and I'm concerned about your health. You must get some more rest.” 

“It was for better and worse, Michel.” Guntram answered tiredly. “I'm doing my best to keep all this afloat. It's not our money only; it's the people who work for us. What if we go bankrupt? Where would they go?” 

“You won't go bankrupt. There's more than enough in the offshore accounts to live like billionaires for the rest of your grandchildren' lives.” 

“It's not only the money.” Guntram sighed tiredly. “I only want this bloody judge to set a bail and make a real accusation so we can defend ourselves, but this is like living in a legal limbo. Do you understand what it means to me to wait until Monday?” 

“Gandini does his best.” 

“And you? Can you do something else?” 

“Guntram, this is not my field of expertise.” 

“You know more about not paying taxes than anyone in our teams.” 

“Exactly. I do it right since the first paper. Here everything was done sloppily and honestly, it was daft to create a corporate video to explain wealthy Americans how to evade taxes through you.” 

“Do they have that?” Guntram asked in shock. Konrad couldn't be so... stupid to allow such a thing to happen in his own bank. Yet, he had been more and more mentally detached from everything in the past months and maybe years. 

“Oh, yes. HD too,” Michel answered sarcastically. “Only for being that dumb, all of them deserve ten years.... Ah, don't forget the Federals' photos of three well-known mafia bosses entering the bank. Or the Russian good Samaritan who keeps money for uncle Vladimir here, breaking something like an international embargo decreed because of the war in Crimea. I guess that Lintorff forgot to ask for a photocopy his passport when the Russian was filling out the forms. Everything has been done so... sloppy, that I doubt there'll be any bails for anyone. This judge won't let you go so easily.”  

“Are you sure?” 

“You start to sound like my clients when I tell them that they have to give something back to their governments. I hear nothing but whining.”

* * *

Still dazed by the marathonian working day, Guntram had nearly fallen asleep while he was reading a bed-story to his boys. Ashamed after suddenly waking up to the muffled laughter of the children, he had quickly finished the story and left their bedroom. 

Sitting alone in the small dining room, once more he felt Konrad's absence. The fish tasted like nothing but he didn't want to acknowledge it. 'What will he be eating?' he wondered as he did his best to keep a straight face in front of the young butler standing at the end of the room. 

“Dachs, we need to speak with you,” Ratko burst in the room and interrupted Guntram's very late dinner. “It's a matter of a certain urgency.” 

All inner bells rose inside Guntram's chest as he left his napkin aside and followed the Serb through the house corridors. Ratko, instead of aiming for the library, resolutely walked towards the service area. A bit surprised, Guntram followed him without making any questions. Years of living with the Serbs had taught him to speak less and see more. 

Ratko opened one of the balcony doors in the laundry area and walked towards the pond. 'Running water always kills microphones,’ remembered Guntram and inwardly prayed that whatever was the problem, it wouldn't be so big that he couldn't solve it. He was fast approaching the limit of his endurance. 

“Sit there, Dachs,” Ratko ordered him mildly and Guntram didn't feel insulted because that was the man's way. Guntram took his place in one of the benches bordering the pond and watched how Ratko quickly disappeared into the darkness.  

The croaking of the toads and frogs was quite loud and Guntram remembered how Konrad loved to come to that spot to think. 'At least, this is a break,' he thought as he contemplated the dark waters, glistening under the electrical lamplight. 

Ratko returned with Milan and two more shadows, trailing behind them. 

“Mr. di Mattei and Mr. Gorgazali,” Guntram greeted the two Councillor-Komturen before their faces could be seen. “It's an unexpected pleasure to see you both here.” 'Those two didn't run away. Figures.' He made room in the bench to let the two guests sit next to him. 

Both men took their places and looked expectantly at the Serbs so they would start to speak. Milan cleared his throat and balanced from one foot to the other, nervously, not knowing how to begin his speech. 

“We are in deep trouble, Guntram,” Enrico finally started with a soft voice. 

“That's an understatement,” replied Guntram. “We are sinking faster than the Titanic. Most of the people I know turned their backs on me and the judiciary front looks very complicated at the time. Honestly, I'm surprised to see you here.” 

“We are the only remaining councillors,” Gorgazali said. “The other Komturen are very nervous about our next course of action.” 

“I'd say, move to a country with no extradition treaty with the USA.” Guntram said flatly. “I mean, the Order's main reason to exist is a failure if nobody respects us anymore. All the people who were happy to be in this ship suddenly forgot all about us. The Order cannot help you if trouble were to befall upon your heads, gentlemen.”

“We are not cowards,” Gorgazali was deeply offended at Guntram's words but held his anger in check. “We'd rather die a hundred times from a bullet in our heads than from sipping margaritas in the Pacific. We are men of honor.”

“Indeed,” Enrico's voice echoed Gorgazali's words. 

“We need a leader,” Ratko said and Guntram gaped at him. 

“I can't help you with that. I don't even know whom to recommend.” Guntram answered. 

“You,” said Milan. 

“I? Are you... nuts?” Guntram chortled. “I'm not even part of the Council and I don't even know if I paid my contribution to the Order. In fact, half of the Komturen blame me for the Duke's resignation. Name somebody else.”

“There's nobody else. If one Komtur is favored over the others, then it will be total war among us. None of the Komturen trust any of the associates and, why should we? They're traitors, just as you say. So, what is left is the sang réal. Enrico said gravely. “Guntram, you must accept this burden. Things are becoming desperate for us.” 

“I wouldn't know what to do. I hardly can keep up with the Duke's companies.” 

“You have shown us that you can stop a war in less than five minutes,” Gorgazali said. “The gold thing. That could have killed us all, but you saved our resources and even increased them. Many Komturen are grateful for that.” 

'Fuck! I was saving their hides, not Konrad's!' “It was just my beginners' luck.” Guntram said instead. “I'm nothing more than the sensitive artist who sometimes is able to paint.” 

“No, you are not,” Ratko said bluntly. 

“It's the blood that runs in your veins,” Enrico said and Gorgazali nodded. 

'The Georgian believes in that shit, too? Fuck!' Guntram took several deep breaths to calm down his trumpeting heart. “I don't have my grandfather's expertise when he ruled France. I don't have my father's wisdom. I'm just trying to stay afloat and get my husband out of jail.” 

“Guntram, the situation in the south of France is becoming very dangerous for all of us.” Milan interrupted him. “Before you tell me to go and fetch the French Komtur, let me tell you that Lahon was the one who called for this meeting.”

“What is so important that it can't wait for Goran's return?” 

“I'm more familiar with the situation there,” Gorgazali said. “Since two years ago, we had been invaded by several different groups of people from the north of Africa who want to trade hashish and weapons in our cities. Contrary to the Russians who are always willing to negotiate, these people just attack our positions and take everything to themselves. They show no respect.” 

“Do you want to start a war with them? Right now?” huffed Guntram. “Your sense of opportunity leaves a lot to be desired.” 

“This hashish pays for those madmen in Syria.” Milan said. 

“They use our money to kill our kind down there.” Enrico said. “I'm sick of these guys flooding my land with their trash and their terrorists. It must be stopped.” 

“How?” Guntram asked. “I can't do a thing. Talk to Obama. It's his mess.”

“Since a week, they're attacking our brothers in France relentlessly.” Gorgazali said. “Lahon was nearly killed yesterday in Marseilles. If they win... The whole France will belong to them and this tumor will become a cancer rotting us from the inside. We can't have ISIS in our lands.”

“Are we sure -at all- if this is ISIS? It wouldn't be the first fundamentalist Imam we have in our hands.” 

“Barashi says they are and he should know.” Enrico said and Guntram frowned at him. “He's the Komtur from Venice and he's Muslim too. Half Syrian and Bosnian.” 

“One of the few you can stomach,” Milan's voice was laced with deep disgust. “Not too bad people. Shia. Helped some Christians in the past.” 

Guntram remembered the name of the old man he had briefly met all those years ago in Venice and suppressed a shudder. He had nearly handed him over to Constantin in a silver tray. “Is he still alive?” he asked. 

“He's over eighty, but he's still alive and kicking in his territory.” Enrico answered. “He rules all of the north of Italy and the Dalmatia.” 

'Back to the Roman provinces. Konrad's idea?'- “With all due respect, gentlemen, I don't know how I could help you. I know nothing about your dealings or strategy.” 

“We need a leader that nobody contests. If we name any of the Komturen or associates, it will be war, Guntram. We need the sang réal, repeated Enrico. “All who are here agree on this.” 

“Four people isn't enough.” 

“All the Komturen are here.” Ratko said with a shrug. “In the Order's meeting room.” 

“Are you...?” Guntram had to take a deep breath before he would tell the Serbs what he really thought about having some Mafia elements right under the same roof where his children slept. 

“The Komturen here? Where my children sleep? We'll get the CIA, the Feds, Interpol and who knows who else in here!” Guntram finally exploded. 

“They don't know we are here.” 

“Of course not!” Guntram retorted sarcastically. “Like in the bank. That's how you lost your last Hochmeister.”

“They caught us unaware.” Ratko huffed. 

“They caught you with your pants down, Ratko,” Guntram rebuked him. “How on earth Am I going to solve a problem that not even the NATO can fix?” 

“We need a leader to unify us. We'll do the rest.” Milan said emphatically. “We know how to deal with this scum.” 

“May I remind you that you lost Krajina?” Guntram challenged the Serbs. “I'm not going to sit and be your façade while you unleash a bloodbath in southern France.” 

“We're not asking you to do that.” Ratko shook his head and pressed with his hand the top of his stomach.

“All what we ask of you is to assume your role as our Hochmeister. Our brothers wait for you, sir.” Enrico said. 

“Pavicevic is your Hochmeister. He'll be back soon.” 

“Not for another two or three months.” Gorgazali retorted. “That's a lot of time to let these madmen roam free. They're taking advantage of our momentary weakness. In two months, there will be nothing left if we don't stop them right now.” 

“I can't even tell if this person is a Shia or a Sunni,” huffed Guntram. “I only know a bit about Sufism.”  

“You're not opening a religious school, Guntram,” Milan interfered. “If they roam free, we will lose control over the drugs trade and it will be like Colombia or Mexico, but with the Jihadi blowing everything up.” 

“Not all Muslims are like this,” Guntram huffed. “See, Barashi, for example.” 

“He's the first person to say that we have to wipe the Jihadi out. They come here, start selling their low-quality shit and boom, two idiots find the road to Heaven in the way of a dynamite belt. You know how it works.”

“Those are rumors,” Guntram huffed again. 

“No, they aren't.” Milan shook his head, unable to understand his friend's militant naïveté regarding Muslims. “Ask your lawyer's cleaning lady what happened to someone she knew.” 

“Fairuza? What's wrong with her?” 

“Cousin of the cousin blew himself up while doing Jihad in Mosul. Not a big loss, but it proves they're here and ready to attack. We know them since over fourteen centuries, Guntram. Think on those Jewish children in France; shot in front of their school just because they were Jew. Or the blasphemous journalists in Paris.” 

Guntram's eyes sought guidance in the glistening dark waters and loudly breathed several times. The mention of the murdered children troubled him very much. It was any parent biggest fear. “If we were to retaliate, -and notice the big if I'm using-, are we ready to cope with the casualties? Is it the best moment to start a war here, in our territory?” he asked to all the men.  

“The war has already started, sire.” A voice was heard from the end of the road and Guntram saw how the men nearly draw their weapons. “It's me, Charles Lahon, sir.” 

Guntram saw a very old man coming towards him and out of habit he rose to his feet in deference of his age. “Sire, all what these men say is true.” Lahon sat on the bench, right on the spot Gorgazali had emptied and sighed tiredly, as if all of his bones ached. 

“Marseilles has always been a problematic city, Mr. Lahon,” Guntram took his place back and watched how the men circled him and the old man. 

“Not to this point. First the Algerians and some Moroccans were trading some hashish and that wasn't a big problem. They were mostly into smuggling people in and living off the French State. Normally, I used to buy most of my products from some good friends in Algeria but they were killed by the FIS. Marseilles and Algiers were like twin sisters. French, Algerians and Tunisians tolerated each other more or less. But now, with Kalashnikovs on sale for 400 euros, things are very different. The second generation of Muslim children didn't adapt to our country's ways and make trouble everywhere they go.”

“I'd blame it more on the soaring unemployment,” Guntram said.

“On the benefits, Sire,” huffed Lahon. “Nobody wants to work if the State pays you for doing nothing but playing the idiot rapper. Their parents worked their... lives off. The children do nothing and then, satellite TV and they tune in to the craziest Wahhabi preacher they can find. Youth want a thrilling life and those nut cases provide them with one. Want a new BMW? Sell hashish. Want a new house? Sell hashish. Want God's forgiveness because you've broken each one of his rules? Turn to ISIS. Jihad is the answer and the way out of this corrupt Western world.” 

“If it were as easy as you say, Mr. Lahon, Paris would be ashes since a long time,” Guntram argued. 

“It will be soon,” the old man growled. “The people who came here in the sixties have nothing to do with the people now. This has to be stopped because they're attacking us. Al Zarkhani gang dared to come to my own house in Toulouse and shot my family there.”

“Are they alright?” Guntram asked concerned about the family. 

“I lost seven of my bodyguards, sir.” Lahon said slowly. “We barely contained them. They will be back. They will go after you and your children when the time is right.” 

“Forget about politicians doing anything. They move their asses only if you press them with something really dirty.” Ratko broke into the talk. “Muslims think we are at our weakest. Those wretched Masons brought them here again just to exterminate us.” 

“And we are,” pointed out Guntram. 

“Your grandfather led us once,” Lahon said. “I was there and I saw what a great warrior he was.” 

'And he's ashes now. Pity, you all sided with Konrad.' “I'm not the Vicomte,” he said. “I'll never be your figurehead.” 

“My people will serve you, Sire,” Enrico said gravely as he touched the place where Guntram knew the scarification was. “To the end of the world.” 

“Your bloodline made itself strong in Toulouse many years ago.” Lahon added. “It will be an honor to follow you again,” 

“Even If I'd be accepted, the job belongs to Goran Pavicevic. The other members would never accept me.” 

“It would be temporary.” Ratko said conciliatory. “The Executioners are on your side.” 

“As well as all the Komturen,” Gorgazali added quickly. “We spoke and there's no one else with your credentials to lead us back to our Lord's favor.” 

'What the hell? The mobsters are now crusaders? Constantin was more right than I ever thought. He used to say that believing that you were doing God's work was the most addictive drug. He was damn right.'

“Will you help us, Guntram? We really need you.” Ratko insisted and Guntram felt once more full of doubts. 

“You'll get me into trouble with Goran. He won't like it.” He half-agreed. “I'll speak with Barashi and hear what he has to say on the matter.” 

“Excellent! I'll show him here.” Milan said merrily as Guntram looked at him incredulously. He wasn't really expecting them to be at his house and somehow, despite his earlier shouting, his mind was loudly telling him that there were no mobsters camping in his living-room. 

“Did you hide some of the Order's members somewhere in the house?” Guntram asked with an edge to his voice. 

“A few. Nobody saw us. At the cellar, but they're moving upwards to the grand meeting room.” 

“How many?” 

“All of the Komturen and a few members. Holgersen is here, too.” Milan said proudly. 

“One of these days you'll run out of luck, Bregovic and Mihailovic.” Guntram admonished them and both men look contrite at the scolding. “Bring Barashi over here.” 

The men left in haste and Guntram was left alone once more. His mind could only race and tumble down with the 'what Am I doing?' phrase over and over. There was no other thought going through his mind. He hated the Order and here he was; once more sacrificing himself for the very survival of an institution that would be better off. 

'Like always,' his inner voice told him once it was able to quiet his grass-hoping avalanche of thoughts and mixed emotions. 'I don't even want to attack people I don't know. Why? I don't even have problems with the Muslins as long as they don't insult me.' 

'For what? So some drug dealers can sell their own shit?'   

'Fuck them all.' 

“Sire?” a voice took Guntram back to reality and he saw the old man he had once seen in a Venetian café so long ago, shyly standing in front of him. 

“Komtur Barashi,” Guntram made a sign to allow him to approach him and that simple gesture brought back the memory of Konrad doing the same. “It's been a long time and I never thanked you for your cooperation.” 

“There was no need, Sire. It was a horrible mistake and I never would have done something against the Hochmeister's pupil. I really didn't know it.” 

'If I'd have been the regular Joe, I'd have been floating on the channels before he'd have ordered a coffee.' 

“What is your grievance?” Guntram asked instead, firmly pushing the memories behind him. “I might not be the man you seek.” 

“The south of France is plagued with these extremists. It isn't just the business going bad but the kind of society we will be facing in a few years, months even. ISIS people respect nothing. They...” 

“There is no need to tell me about their exploits. I have enough with the press. What real evidence do you have that these new dealers aren't just rogue people?” 

“Very well, sir,” the man began to fumble with his jacket to finally extract an iPad mini and extend it to Guntram. “In here is all the information we have about them. There are reports from the Syrian and Russian intelligence along with our own intelligence.”

“Do you realize that as a Muslim you're asking our people to... exterminate your own people?” 

“Those animals are not my people. They're not Muslim. They're beasts that soil our Prophet's name, blessed be. The Holy Quran is quite clear; if you kill unjustly, you go straight to Hell. What will happen to our brothers if these animals achieve a great damage in Europe? Another Iraq? Will be all of us rounded up like cattle and be taken to concentration camps? Many of your people already cry for that, sir.”

“That’s true,” Guntram admitted slowly. “But the killings of Christians in Egypt and Syria were started by extremists. I'm very pessimist about the situation. We are heading towards a broad conflict with Islam, just as it was before the fall of the Ottoman Empire. Verse 47:7 is quite clear.” 

“That Verse is frequently misquoted, sir. You must understand that it was written during the thirteen years that Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, and his followers had to run away to Medina and the people of Mecca sent their army to kill them. You should read it as…” The old man took a mobile phone out of his pocket and quickly began to press and slide his finger on the screen. 

“Here it is,” he showed Guntram a text written in Arabic. “Let me translate it for you, sir. Therefore, when ye meet the Unbelievers in battle, smite at their necks; At length, when ye have thoroughly subdued them, bind a bond firmly (on them): thereafter (is the time for) either generosity or ransom: Until the war lays down its burdens. Thus (are ye commanded): but if it had been God's Will, He could certainly have exacted retribution from them (Himself); but (He lets you fight) in order to test you, some with others. But those who are slain in the Way of God, He will never let their deeds be lost.” It really means that we as Muslims should attack those unjust oppressors until they're subdued. The Prophet and his companions were not meant to start the battle, but to defend against aggressors and so they did at the Battle of Badr.” 

“God does not command anyone to start fighting. Allah does not love those who exceed the limits. When you use the word Jihad, it really means to struggle or to be striving in the cause of God. Any struggle done in the day-to-day to please God is good. Control of the self is Jihad just well as to defend your country from invaders. Sometimes the word Jihad is mistaken by the word Qital which refers to the act of Holy War in the cause of God.” 

Guntram's eyes pierced Barashi's in the semi-darkness, looking for any signs of deception or hesitation but he found none. The man's eyes held his gaze limpidly and something inside Guntram told him Barashi was truthful to him. 

“If I were to accept what the Komturen are asking me to do,” Guntram gulped as the acceptance of his fate descended upon his mind, “will you and your people side with us?” 

“The consequences if we don't do it would be far more horrid.” 

“We would be only chopping off the heads of the Hydra, Mr. Barashi. What about its body? What about those young ones? How do we solve it? Should I... get rid of every Wahhabi Imam in Europe? Forbid satellite TV?” 

“I can't speak with the new Hochmeister as I was able to do it with the Griffin,” Barashi replied slowly. “Pavicevic didn't listen to me a year ago and now, with their... disappearance, things are picking up speed and will turn ugly for innocent people on both sides.” 

“This is something for our governments to deal with.”

“You've seen more politicians than I ever did and what do they do?” 

'Nothing but saving their hides.' Guntram preferred to play with the electronic device on his hands as he thought. “I will read this material, this I can promise you, but it's my firm belief that the Order as a whole should reach a joint decision. It will not be one man's decision.”

“The Executioners respect you, sire. Only you can stop them from starting a bloodbath if they’re left to their own devices. Mihailovic and Bregovic would slice my throat without a second thought. Di Mattei and Gorgazali are stopping them, but for how long?”

“I certainly understand your concerns, Mr. Barashi.” Guntram answered with a firm voice. 

Guntram didn't want to be tangled in that cobweb, yet he saw no way out. Gloomily, Gutram watched how the man slowly walked away until the darkness swallowed him. 

The summer night was becoming chilly and he briefly wondered if the boys were already asleep. Guntram felt utterly tired; he had never signed up for any position within the Order and here he was; entangled in a legal battle with the United States and Switzerland along with the first clashes of a guerrilla war in the south of France. He hated the idea of taking command of something he loathed and despised with all his soul. 

His naïve years were well behind; he wasn't expecting people to “talk about” their issues and resolve them in a civilized way; all those men were Mafia warlords on a warpath and both sides had a penchant for beheading their enemies if he were to believe Constantin's tales. 

‘I might have to order somebody’s execution.' An unknown dread clung to the young man's heart. 'I killed once but it was in self-defense. How can I kill now in cold-blood?

'I can't do it.' 

'They wouldn't hear me anyway. I'm just the former Consort. Gay to make things worse.' 

'Do they really think I can stop a war? Really? I can't do a thing against something like ISIS if these guys are really from there.' 

'How many people do I have? Twenty Serbs? Maybe forty? It's nonsense.' 

'Yet I can't sit and do nothing.' 

'Barashi is right. If this madness reaches Europe we will be seeing people hanging from the lampposts and not the Jihadi but the good, hard working people like Fairuza and her family.' 

'Either way we are heading towards disaster.' 

The wooden backrest hurt his back as he imagined thousand splinters detaching themselves to pierce his skin. The images of the Syrian carnages he had seen in the press clouded his mind. 

'To do nothing is worse than to do something and fail.' 

'This is our land and we live it as we like. Nobody is going to tell us what to do or to step over our values. It took us centuries of fighting to learn to be tolerant and open.'

'God, I hate what I am going to do.'