TS 3 Chapter 10

Chapter 10

June 30^th, 2014

Zurich

Despite the looming sensation oppressing his heart, Guntram decided to ignore all what he had read in the press and continue to work. Two days of rest had been enough to make him feel better again. The world wasn't going to stop while he licked his wounds and the competition wouldn't be more considerate to him just because one crazy journalist had suggested his marriage was incestuous. 

It drove him very nervous that in google his name's results had increased from 42.000 to 632.000 almost overnight. The wretched school photo used by the tabloid was now on the first result for “images” followed by Stefania's portrait. Someone had dug up the story of Konrad's first wedding and... he had violently shut down his laptop after reading the first blogger's ideas about it. 

Everything was a freaking circus and Twitter was the Roman Arena. 

'Everybody knew Konrad was no saint,' he told himself for the fifth time during that hour as his eyes struggled to keep track of the line in the contract he was trying to read. 'I forgave him for that lie.' 

'I really did,' he told himself once more. 

'I only need to wait till the waters calm down. Anyway, my social life was already in the trashcan.' 

'Only what the Komturen think matters,' he reminded himself as the memory of the cast down eyes seen in his normally cocky Serbs came back to his mind. Milan and Ratko had been very quiet about the incident but Guntram could see how upset and disoriented they were. For men so conservative as them, it was too much to accept in one go.

'Probably they think I'm the stupid little lily who fell for their boss and boss was fucking his own nephew. They don't make much distinctions between bloodlines and political relatives. How did Ratko say? Ah yes, “This is it. The man hit rock bottom when he began to rob the cradle.”  

'Well, at least they don't think any more that I was being a stubborn ass for being so furious with Konrad at that time.' 

Monika, with her sphinx face entered in the room, carrying a tea cup in one hand and her iPad on the other. She had said nothing on the matter or shown any kind of emotions and Guntram was glad for that. He had had enough with the maids scurrying gazes in the early morning. 

Somehow, everybody in the house _with the sole exception of his children, Friederich, Monika and Fefo_ couldn't look at him in the eye.  

“Mihailovic and Bregovic are here, sir.” Monika announced as she placed the porcelain tea cup on top of the desk. “They would like to see you at your convenience.” 

“Send them in,” Guntram said with a confidence he didn't really have. 

The sight of Ratko and Milan entering in the library reminded Guntram of two battered dogs coming to beg for his master's leniency. The men took the chairs in front of him and fixated his gazes on each side of the large Persian rug. 

“I'm up here, gentlemen.” Guntram chided them. “I assume you want to speak about what was on the news yesterday.” 

“Is it... true?” Milan asked with a mortified, ashen face. 

“Yes, it is.” Guntram answered calmly. “That's why we broke up in 2006.” 

Both men exchanged glances and looked even more sombre than before. “The duke and I have cleared up our grievances on the matter, so all this shouldn't be of any concern to you two.” Guntram said. 

“Dachs, this is bad.” Milan mumbled embarrassed. 

“I'm only concerned about what the Komturen will think. Ratko?” Guntram asked ignoring Milan's whining. 

“I'm a family man and this is too much.” Ratko barked, his natural belligerence once again recovered after the initial shock. “Of all people...” 

“Of all people what?” Guntram growled. “This is a private affair, gentlemen.” 

“You know it isn't.” Ratko growled. “I mean, you were named Consort and... The duke and one of the worst kind of traitors we had around were...? the man couldn't finish the sentence so furious as he was. “I mean, people died for this, starting by Goran's father. My own uncle took a bullet that night when the people sent by your family attacked us.” 

“As you know, I was seven when it all happened.” Guntram rose his voice. “Goran never blamed me for what happened that night and he knew about the duke and my uncle Roger. He found it out the same day as I did.” 

“We don't blame you,” Milan hurriedly interfered to “separate” both friends. “You were just a little kid.” 

“An orphan kid, with no family to support you,” Ratko added, oddly calmed down. “It really isn't your fault, Guntram.” 

“Then what is your problem now?” Guntram asked bluntly, utterly tired of the permanent questioning he was subjected every day by the Serbs. Nothing he did was good enough for them.  

“We can't serve the duke any more.” Ratko said firmly. “He has broken every rule in our Code and in the Bible.”

Guntram closed his eyes. “If your conscience tells you that, it's all right. You know yourselves better than I do. As I said once, I'm here only for a brief period, until Goran or the duke return and take over all this. As we say in Argentina, you don't change saddles in the middle of the river you're crossing and that's exactly what you're doing now. Do you want to leave? Very well but all the power you had will be transferred to the Komturen and the Order is as good as dead. There will be no more law and order in our lands.” 

“Guntram, homosexuality is one thing and we accept it but this is too much.” Ratko barked. “You're his nephew.” 

“I'm only asking you to wait until your former superiors return. Ask Goran what he thinks about this because he knew about this for a long time. Ask Ferdinand and Albert about their views on the matter. I'm my uncle's Roger's nephew not the Duke's.”  

“This is totally disgusting.” Ratko said. “If my son would be... living with my brother's former fiancée, I'd beat her ass and then, his. Period.” 

“Ratko, we can't stop now.” Guntram almost pleaded. “We have to come out of this mess and then, we will see what will happen. My husband will totally step down from the Order. You know we are socially dead after this.” 

“He shouldn't have!” Ratko exploded. “He knew who you were and lied to us for years!” 

“And to me!” barked Guntram and took several deep breaths in. “But I let it go.” 

“We fought with the Russians for this!” Ratko was out of himself. “I lost many good soldiers to Repin because of this!” 

“Repin would have wiped you out at the first excuse he had!” Guntram talked back. “You don't know him as well as I do! It never had anything to do with me! He wanted to expand his power to Europe. It's childish to believe otherwise.”  

“Guntram, step down.” Ratko said dryly. His eyes spoke about stormy deep oceans. 

“All right. Who are you going to put in my place without having all the Komturen tearing themselves apart? Because you could have called this person in the first place and saved me all this shit.” Guntram looked at the Serbs and they averted their eyes. “Nobody? I guessed so.” 

“There's no one,” Ratko admitted reluctantly. “But we can't continue like this. My men will not take orders from you.” 

“Fine, don't take orders from me but don't put yourself in the middle. Take all your warriors away and I'll find a way to protect myself.”

“Guntram, we are friends,” Milan interfered and placed a hand on top of Ratko's arm. His friend had always been the most temperamental of them and shouting with the lad wouldn't solve the situation; it would only make it worse. “You know that we will stay with you and your boys till the end. You're one of us. We went through a lot together.” 

“Of course,” Ratko agreed still visibly upset. 

“What can I do to make you feel at ease? Divorce the duke right now? I can't do that.”  

“Stop interfering with the Order's military affairs,” Ratko growled and Gutnram looked at him in shock at the man’s sudden change in his demands. “I can control my men and the damages if they don't see you around.” 

“I don't want to start bagging pieces of Muslims from all around Europe. It's bad for the business.” 

“Don't worry, Guntram. We have good waste disposal means,” Milan smirked. “Nobody will see a thing if that’s what you want.” 

“I can't let you do it,” Guntram refused. “The Komturen heavily rely on the imports from Libya to balance their loses. They made their point very clear to me. From them up to the... top of the Church, everybody gets their share of those poor devils.” 

“We will speak with them,” Ratko said, upset that Guntram was again behaving like a righteous dunce. “This isn't your thing, Guntram. Leave it to us and focus on the companies.” 

“Guntram, do you really think that we are going to sit down and let you command us?” Milan smirked again. “Take this opportunity to make an honorable exit, my friend. We are pleased with the way you're managing everything else but leave the religious affairs to us. This is a war whether you want to see it or not.” 

“We are this close of being collectively excommunicated,” Guntram seethed, knowing he was cornered but his mind refused to provide him with an escape plan. 

“Not by the Orthodox Church. We know what to do and if they want Jihad, we are going to send them straight to hell, like we always did.” 

“This is ridiculous,” Guntram protested again. “Your own army? What are you going to do when all of you are arrested for who knows what?” 

“Leave. It. To. Us.” Ratko punctuated the words. “Not your thing, as Goran would tell.” 

“We are in this mess because of Goran's lack of vision,” Guntram snapped. “Never before the duke faced any kind of problems in the past.”

“So? Complain to the Muzzies, just as you just told us to do.” Ratko answered back. “Leave the big things to the grown ups, Guntram.” 

“I will not let you roam free as you want. I know many good people who happen to be Muslim. If you start with another of your campaigns, there will be no chance to build any kind of truce with Islam.” 

“You love to be deceived by the “religion of peace”,” Milan smirked. “Taqiyya. They're soooo peaceful and tolerant that you'd be the first person to be thrown from the highest building they can find or be stoned to death.” 

“Those animals are just a tiny fraction of a much larger population. We also had our moments of glory,” Guntram revolved in his chair, becoming more and more upset with his friends' antics and lack of vision. 

“I'm not going to argue with you. It's useless.” Ratko shrugged. “I was there and saw my “peaceful” neighbors turn into demons the minute the Saudis visited them. Don’t forget the elite Bosnians trained by Hezbollah; those were the worst. Iranians paid them just to kill Christians in Europe. Moderate Muslims are only those who are too coward to use their own hands to kill Christians. They wait for the others to do it and cheer when they see the blood running down the streets. I've seen it with my own eyes. This isn't open for negotiations, Guntram. Leave the military affairs to me and I won't repeat myself.” 

“Ratko, you're forcing my hand.” Guntram growled. 

“And you mine,” Ratko locked his eyes with Guntram's in a battle of wills but the young man didn't cover. “Remember who is your people and who looks after you.” 

“Is that what you have to tell me?” Guntram barked but his words were cut short by the insistent knocking at his door. “What is it?” he asked upset at the interruption. He was more than determined to fire Ratko from his position; he had more than enough votes in the Council to do it. 

The head butler partly entered in the room and stood undecided in the middle of the room. 

“What is it, Dieter?” Guntram snapped at the middle-aged man shyly looking at him. 

“I... would like your permission, sir,” the man gulped noisily and the Serbs looked at him like two hounds. “To open Mr. Elsässer's door. He didn't come down this morning and he's not responding to our calls, sir.” 

Before Guntram could rise from his chair, Milan and Ratko already were out of the library with the butler running behind them. Guntram was able to catch them right at the entrance of Friederich's room but Milan blocked the door with his massive body, not letting him inside the darkened bedroom. 

“Leave it to us,” he said softly as Ratko burst in the room, leaving the poor shaken butler behind. 

“That man inside there is like my father,” Guntram protested but Milan held him firmly by the arms, efficiently preventing him to enter in the darkened room. 

“Leave it to us,” Milan repeated the words slowly and moved the young man a few steps away from the door, holding him firmly in his place. “What are you doing here?” he growled at Dieter. “Get a doctor,” he ordered the slightly shaking man. 

Ratko's resigned and sullen expression told Guntram that all of his worst fears were true. With a slight push, Guntram disentangled himself from Milan's inert hold and dragged his feet inside the dark room. 

Nothing would have indicated Guntram that Friederich was gone. The old man seemed to be asleep in his bed, bearing a pleasant expression in his face, as if death would have surprised him in his sleep. Guntram only fell to his knees and buried his face on the man's arms, biting his lips to keep the sobs inside him. 

Milan left the room, overwhelmed by the sorrow coming in powerful waves from Guntram as Ratko returned and stood next to the young man. He said nothing but placed his hand on his shoulder, offering a quiet comfort. 

“The doctor will be here soon,” Ratko finally dared to interrupt Guntram's grief. “With any luck we will be able to keep the police out of this.” 

“What?” Guntram didn't know where he was. He could only think in Friederich and how he had left them. Quietly and peacefully; exactly as he had lived all his life. 

“The police. We don't need more people here.” 

“You fix it,” Guntram said tiredly. 

“All right. I'll speak with the doctor and the... you know,” Ratko gulped loudly.  

“Yes, Konrad said that Friederich was to be buried here. In the chapel. Oh, God. I have to tell it to the boys and his sister. I don't know how to do it.” Guntram stood up and contemplated the body on the bed. “He was alone.” 

“He died in his sleep. It's the kind of death God sends to his most loved children.” Ratko said softly. “It was painless and quick.” 

“How Am I going to tell it to Konrad? He won't...” Guntram could barely contain the litany of endless questions rushing through his mind as the sorrow gripped his heart and crushed it. Ratko's words were unheard. 

“The lawyers will do it. You can't enter there, remember?” 

“I'll get a special permission.” 

“Try it but don't count on it. Only money matters here.” 

“I'll call my f... The lawyer,” Guntram said. “He may get me in.” 

* * * 

With his smallest child weeping on his lap and the other two older boys looking at him desolated, Guntram didn't know what else to say. He had done his best to break the news in the most tactful way he could. 

“The doctor said it was his heart,” he added finally. “It's God's decision. I must speak with his sister now,” he mumbled as he tried to disengage the weeping Kurt holding tight from his midsection. 

“It's not fair,” the small one sobbed as he tightened his hold of his father. 

“It's life,” Guntram told him. “We all will be going away one day. Come on, Kurt. I have to do many things now,” he tried to gently disengage himself from the toddler.  

“You always have to do things.” Karl growled while the tears rolled down his round face. “You're never here.” 

“Papa would be here.” Klaus supported his brother's silent accusation. “You only work.” 

“I have to. This isn't the time to behave like babies, Klaus Maria,” Guntram retorted seriously. “Nor to be petty to your elders.” 

“What's petty?” Kurt asked while he sobbed through his nose noisily. 

“Nothing,” mumbled Klaus, hurt by the undeserved scold. “Nothing you need to know. It's a synonym for Guntram.” 

“Synonym means the same word for that,” Karl spat the phrase. 

Guntram put the gaping child on the floor and stood up. “I really have no time to hear two whimpering brats. Come to the library when you're ready to apologize.” 

Without waiting for their replies or caring if they were shocked by his harsh reaction, Guntram stormed out of the room, nearly knocking down the silent Birgitte. Hearing his boys crying on the woman's lap, felt like a stab for Guntram's heart but he didn't turn around and returned to them. 'What's done is done. They should learn their places.' 

The avalanche of things he needed to arrange overloaded his mind and he was forced to use the wall for support as his head spun around. His grief was quickly overcome by his concern about how Konrad would take the news. He didn't know what to do; tell it and leave his husband suffering in prison because he wouldn't get permission to come for the funeral or be quiet and then, when everything was fine again, say it? He hated to lie to Konrad but he hated more to make him suffer. His husband would blame himself for Friederich's death. Konrad would think he had brought shame on his house and would never forgive himself. 

'Friederich was sad for this shit, but knowing that the family turned their backs on us, was worse than the shame. Konrad worked all his life like a dunce, renounced to everything and they profited from that to finally betray his own son.' 

Guntram laid his head against the silk wall paper and closed his eyes. The pain was unbearable and he didn't know how to stop it. He heard someone calling him by his name but he didn't want to open his eyes. 

“I can speak with Aunt Lotte,” Christoph grabbed Guntram by the arm and slightly shook him to get his attention. 

“Excuse me?” He looked at the man as he didn't know him. Then, he remembered him; Friederich's long distant cousin or nephew. 

“I'm related to Lotte Habsburg Kassel. She's my mother's cousin. I see this is a very hard time for you. I can break the news to her, or phone my mother so she goes to her house. They both live in Salzburg.” 

“Thank you, but I must do it,” Guntram said slowly. “But perhaps your mother's presence would be greatly appreciated. I still don't know what to do.” 

“My grandfather knows it surely. If you want, I can speak with him. He knows almost all of the family and can call them for the ceremony. Is it going to be here?” 

“I...” Guntram was appalled and didn't know what to say. He made the decision in a fraction of a second. “Yes, it will be here. Friederich wanted to rest here, in the chapel. There is a place reserved for him. Next Sunday.” 

“Very well. I'll speak with him and you with Aunt Lotte.” Christoph walked away fast when he heard Guntram's mobile ringing in his pocket. 

“What do you mean by the judge said “no”?” Guntram seethed when he heard his father talking on the other side of the line. “It's his fucking father!”

“Really Guntram, I understand your grief, but it doesn't give you the right to yell at me like the washerwoman's son.” Michel replied dryly. “His Honor said that there is no family relation with the deceased, refused the permit for Lintorff and sent me away in less than five minutes. I can continue to press him but it will only infuriate him and it will be a waste of time. What should I do? Should I send this man, Lanusse to tell him? If I go, it will be worse for Lintorff. He... dislikes me.” 

“No, say nothing,” mumbled Guntram. “Try to get the judge to change his mind.” 

“The risk of escape is too high for his taste. We are speaking of a billionaire who many countries would love to have him and his money. Either we pay the total amount of the bail or nothing.”

“Can't I go to prison to tell him? It's the least he can do.” 

“No. No socials before the statement due in two weeks. Only his designated lawyers can enter. I'm sorry, Guntram.” 

“This idiot offers me a bail and now he wants to take another statement?” 

“Welcome to Trial World, Guntram.”  

“Tell Konrad nothing. It will only make him feel bad and he can't do much about it, right?” 

“No, Lintorff will have to wait to pay his respects to his tutor. I'll send someone to help you with the paperwork.” Michel hang up the phone as Guntram looked at the mobile speechless. Slowly walking he descended the stairs and returned to his safe haven in the library. He needed a place to grief alone. 

“Do your best to change the judge's mind, please,” he pushed the button to send the message to Michel. 

“I'll try it.” Seeing the letters gave huge relief to Gutram. He pushed the door to the small office next to the library.  

“Monika, no obituaries please,” he softly ordered to the red-eyed woman sitting at her desk, surrounded by her papers and used kleenex. “Has the doctor said anything?” 

“Dr. Wagemann has signed the papers and says that's the best way to avoid an autopsy,” Monika sobbed to keep the tears at bay.  

“Thank you. Could you call...?” 

“I did. They will be here soon. The princess' number is on top of your desk, sir.” 

“Next Sunday will be the best day, right?” Suddenly, Guntram didn't know what to do. He felt lost. 

“Of course. I can arrange everything for that day, sir,” Monika used her softest voice and gently touched Guntram's arm. 

“Try to get Pater Bruno,” was the first thing that came to his mind. 

“He's already here.” 

“Please, nothing of this must be leaked to the press. I don't want that Konrad finds it out by the newspapers.” 

“Is the duke not coming?” 

“No, the judge forbade it.” Guntram turned around his face to avoid seeing the lady begin to cry on top of her desk. 

* * *

At the end of the day, Gutram's acute pain had turned into a dull ache. He felt anesthetized as he rode a roller coaster of emotions. Sometimes, he would find himself thinking that everything was a bad dream and expected Friederich to cross the door in any minute, and then he was plunged in the most miserable abyss when someone would approach him to tell some kind words. 

Sitting in the living room with around thirty people -who had come for an “informal” visit- was hard for him. He would have preferred a hundred times to be left alone to process his grief, but here he was, doing his best to hear stories about Friederich or been effusively kissed by the old princess zu Löwenstein. Although the funeral would take place some days later, for Guntram, the gathering already felt as if it were. Despite the family's odd social situation, some very old friends of Friederich -mostly acquaintances from his charity work at the Foundation or in the parish- came by and Guntram was glad for it, although he suspected the old men there were only checking if they were not the next in line and that all of them were still around.

Nothing prepared Guntram to see was his father crossing the living room's door bearing a sullen expression in his face. 

“Never expected to see you here,” Guntram whispered in Michel's ear as the old man dragged him out of the room without saying anything. 

“Can we speak alone?” the lawyer replied in hushed tones and walked down the corridor quickly in direction to the library. 

“What is it?” Guntram asked once he closed the heavy door behind him. 

“I have bad news, my child.” 

“What happened?” 

“I went to see the judge and sort of... got a visitation schedule for you.” Michel didn't know how to break the news to his son and said the first thing that went through his head.

“That's great.” Guntram frowned as he didn't understand his father's actions.

“Lintorff is in the hospital. Heart attack.” Michel slurred the words and sat on the large chesterfield sofa Konrad used each time he wanted to read. 

“Excuse me?” whispered Guntram. 

“He's in the prison infirmary but he will be moved to the hospital once he's more stable.” Guntram gaped at his father in disbelief, trying to gauge if he was being truthful or not. “I'm sorry to bring you such news, but I just found it out. I shouted with the judge, but he's being stupidly stubborn and doesn't give up. I'll meet with my own team and see what we can do about the situation.” 

“The hospital?” Guntram repeated the words. 

“I will demand to have his medical records as soon as possible but I only know that suffered a collapse as a result of a myocardial infarction. It seems it was a big one and they need to do more tests, perhaps to operate him at the general hospital. They don't know when they would be able to move him there.” 

“Nobody touches him but his own doctor or somebody at the Hirschbaum Klinik,” Guntram growled. 

“It's not that simple. There are rules.” 

“Can't you see that's the perfect excuse to get rid of him?” Guntram shouted and took his mobile phone out to dial a number. 

“What are you doing?” Michel asked alarmed. 

“Setting things right,” Guntram mumbled and cleared his voice when somebody answered the phone. “Hello Heiko. I understand we have some problems now.” 

Michel paled when he realized his son was directly phoning with the judge. 

“If you hung up on me, this will be the last thing you ever do,” Guntram said calmly and Michel already envisioned his son serving several years for threatening a magistrate. 

“He goes to the Hirschbaum Klinik.” Guntram said after he heard a long speech on the other side of the line. “I don't care how much pressure you're facing now, Heiko. This is the end of the road for you. You have two hours to move him there.” Guntram hung up the phone. 

“What did you do?” Michel asked horrified. “You just destroyed all my work!” 

“If he's sent to a hospital, he won't survive the anesthesia, Michel. I know that.” 

“Guntram....” His son's phone rang and he answered it. Michel heard the sound of a frantic voice coming in gushes from the mobile phone as Guntram's face darkened.  

“Heiko, I've played along with your rules. If my husband dies... you will play with my rules and all your friends will follow you.” Guntram waited for a minute as the man babbled something on the other side of the line. “Save it. Do you think you're dealing with a filcher from Hauptbanhoff? We both know each other and you know the game. Once the gates of hell are opened, there will be a flood of... muck that no government in this continent will be able to survive. Wikileaks will be a controlled explosion compared to what I have, starting by the 3.8 million you took from Hochs to keep your mouth closed. Wonderful performance, by the way.” 

“And let's do not forget that you withdraw all your savings from our institution that Friday before Konrad was arrested. How would that look in the press?” Guntram went silent for a long time as he carefully listened what the other man had to say. 

“Yes, an hour and a half will be fine. I'll phone Dr. Van Horn and he'll have everything ready for you. Of course, absolute discretion. We are bankers after all.” Guntram ended the call and began to look for the Hirschbaum clinic director's number, his own personal cardiologist. 

“What you have done is the dumbest thing I've seen in years!” Michel shouted his son in utter disbelief. 

“Why?” 

“What if he was recording your conversation? What if...” Michel slammed his fist against the sofa's arm, unable to continue speaking drowned in his righteous fury. 

“He's the first person to wish not to have it recorded. Why do you think he phoned me back? To get his own secure terminal. We are truly negotiating now.” 

“Who's going to look after your children if you end up like Lintorff?” 

“I'm not going to finish like Konrad.” 

“Guntram... you could have ruined everything.” 

“You're looking things from a legal point of view. I have a broader perspective of the mess. If someone has been feeding Konrad with digitalis, there will be dire consequences. I have had enough of the Americans. We have played their game for too long.” 

“You don't know that! Maybe he's genuinely sick! He's over fifty!” 

“Excuse me, Michel. I have to talk with the doctor.” Guntram said seriously. 

“Hear me well, Guntram. Don't look only in the Americans' direction because many of your associates would love to make another John Paul the First with Lintorff. After all, digitalis was well loved in the Vatican circles.” 

“Or in many other places,” Guntram's face became sombre again. “Many places,” he added. “This is something for Bregovic to investigate.” 

“Guntram, keep the Serbs out of this. You don't want more trouble than what you already have on your dish.” 

“Konrad was perfectly healthy when he left this house and now you tell me he's in the hospital? With a heart illness? I'm not that stupid, father. Excuse me now.” 

Michel sighed but rose to his feet. “Just be cautious.” 

* * * 

“It can't be so bad, Dachs,” Ratko mumbled while he contemplated his friend pace back and forth in the elegant private waiting room. Despite the total darkness, Ratko could guess that the windows faced the lake. 

“They had been inside the operating room for five hours.” Guntram mumbled. 

“Those things take time.” Ratko looked inside his empty plastic coffee cup. “With you, it was like ten hours and he's in much better shape than you.” 

“What?” Guntram looked at his friend clueless. 

“Your first heart attack. That's what I heard.” 

“I wasn't...” Guntram stopped as a man, built like a bull entered in the room. He was dressed with informal clothes and he didn't look like a doctor at all. “Yes?” he asked at the man, hesitantly shifting his weight from one feet to the other, moving like a transatlantic ship. 

“I'm Voinich, Sir. Peter Voinich.” 

Guntram looked at the man puzzled and Ratko cleared his throat. “He's our contact inside the prison. I know him. He's one of us.” 

“Can you see the Duke?” Guntram asked. 

“I'm in charge of the wing where he's staying at.” Voinich gulped. “I was with him when it happened and called the doctor. The Hochmeister didn't believe he was sick. He argued with the doctor up to the last minute.” 

“That sounds like the Hochmeister,” Ratko smiled nervously. “What news do you have?” 

“Not much. He's meant to stay here until he feels better. I'll leave only one man for a six-hour shift. No visits allowed.” 

“How can we better it?” Ratko asked. 

“I need a private wing for him and the main doctor to start writing a novel about his health condition. The judge looks like he doesn't want him back in prison for the time being, but I need some papers to justify it.” 

“Done,” Ratko said before Guntram could open his mouth. “This whole thing belongs to us,” he mumbled. 

Without saying another word the guard left the room as Guntram gaped at Ratko.

“What? Dictators and other people also need a good medical insurance. Think of this as the Medicare for celebrities,” Ratko growled. “Anyway,” he mumbled, nervous under the way nerve-racking way Guntram had to fix his blue eyes on him. 

“Indeed,” whispered Guntram as he miserably sat again on the comfy chair. 

“Leave it us, Guntram,” the Serb repeated this time more feebly than in the morning. Guntram was looking at him as if he would skin him alive. In all the years they had been together, he had never seen him so furious.   

“All right. I trust you Ratko despite you forgot to tell me you had access to the Duke,” Guntram finally said in a glacial way.  

“It was for the best. What if we were discovered? You'd be toasted and the link lost. Voinich did what he had to do when it was the time.” 

“I needed some help and guidance.” 

“You do well with business,” Ratko shrugged, knowing that the danger was away. If Guntram wanted to hear what he had to tell, then, the boy was on the way to forgive him. “It's the other thing that worries me.” 

“Ratko. We have enough at the moment. Leave it,” Guntram barked furiously.  

“Fine,” the Serb mumbled and Guntram knew that the last thing Ratko would do was to peacefully stay at home with his wife and children. He should speak with Enrico to keep an eye on the Serbs before they would nuke a Muslim ghetto in France. His own people were out of control and looking for trouble like a dog searches for his buried bone. 

“I'm not weak, you know?” Guntram said slowly in an attempt to soothe Ratko's belligerence. “I'm just bidding the time.” 

“You calculate too much and you're going to miss your opportunity. Now it's the time; before they grow stronger.”

“Ratko, not all ISIS fighters are Bosnians.”

“No, only half of them and they're coming back to Europe, but that's for Goran to fix, not you.” 

“Ratko...” Guntram said warningly but the subject was too important for the man to simply drop it. 

“Mind the business and I'll mind about the rest.” 

“I can't let you do it,” Guntram sighed tiredly as once more they were starting to fight over the same issue. Suddenly, Guntram realized that if Goran were there with him, the argument wouldn't be much different to what it actually was. Perhaps a bit more civilized but the core and the proposed solutions would stay the same. 

“But I don't know how to stop you,” the young man sighed again and closed his eyes feeling totally drained. Once more, his old friend, a blinding headache was making his temple pulse with each shot of pain going through his skull. 

“You're in no better shape than the Hochmeister,” Ratko sighed and shook his head. The lad was getting too much in the way and minding businesses that were not his own. It was as if he “felt the urgency” to stuck his nose where nobody was calling him. “This is too big for you and the original agreement was that you mind about the financial stuff and I of the other thing. Everything is running fine, so don't screw it up.” 

“I can't believe we're having this talk right now.” Guntram huffed upset with the “scold” he had been given, just as if he were the nineteen-year-old boy the Serbs “took under their wing” so many years ago. 'I really don't get them; they patronize me every day, but they let me move their billions at will. Not a single complaint about my decisions save for the Muslim issue.' 

“Then let’s don't have it. This is for the Hochmeister to fix.” 

“I am he.” 

“No, you aren't. Only the Duke is. Not even Goran is. It was a big mistake to name him. He has no fucking idea about any of this shit. Even you're better than him for the job when you don't get in the middle of things you don't understand. If you would just leave us alone, we would name you again any day but not Goran. He's a warrior and you're a leader. He's no leader beyond the battlefield. Only the Duke can do both things. It's time for you to understand that the holidays are over.” 

Guntram was speechless at the Serb's cynical way of portraying the situation. “Gather the money,” he heard Ratko saying, “and get the Duke back to to his office. Keep the Komturen happy like you're doing now and that will be all.”

“Konrad won't return to this hell of a job.” Guntram said heatedly. “He's sick for Christ's sake! We don't even know if he will make it!” 

“The Duke will return because he knows that's what he has to do. He was brought up for this and he will know what to do. We think you should stay in the Council. You're good and have good ideas, but you can't run all this. You're too “flower power” to sit where you are. The Komturen will run you over very soon and I have to contain them before it happens.” 

“How dare you...” Guntram stopped his heated tirade the moment the old family doctor, Claudio Wagemann entered in the room accompanied by the clinic director, Guntram's own cardiologist, Dr. Van Horn 

“How's he?” Guntram asked anxiously. 

“He'll pull it through.” Dr. Wagemann said and smiled confidently. “But it will take some time and no stress at all.” 

“What happened?” Guntram demanded. 

“It was an acute myocardial infarction as the doctor who first saw him diagnosed and gave him Cafinitrine. Despite it, the Duke fainted and the doctor immediately started CPR.” 

“We will have to make more blood tests over the hours to asses the damage in its fullest, Guntram.” Van Horn said. “Cardiac enzymes take between 4 to 6 hours to elevate to their highest.

“Nevertheless, I'm confident in a good recovery. Upon his arrival here, we performed a cardiac catheterization and unblocked the artery with a coronary angioplasty, which in this case it is called primary angioplasty. A stent, to be clear, Guntram. We went for the surgical procedure because no thrombolysis was started within the first hour and the images showed an important blockage, Dr. Linzer preferred to use a small angioplasty balloon and place a stent. The medical literature supports optimism in the case of patients treated within the three hours and I think we were between those limits.” 

“Why didn't the doctor start the procedures in the infirmary?” Guntram asked. 

“Because he lacked the required thrombolityc drugs to start a thrombolysis and much less had access to facilities like ours. He did his best to lessen the symptoms and kept the oxygen flow constant while they were looking for a hospital.” 

“How long did they take to bring him here?” Guntram asked. 

“Four hours,” Wagemann admitted. “Maybe five,” he finally confessed under Guntram's scrutiny. 

“So we are not within safe limits.” Guntram affirmed. 

“I've seen many cases before and considering the duke's medical records, I can assure you, it will be an easy recovery.” 

Guntram looked at both doctors and feared to ask the next question. “Is there any brain damage? If he fainted or lacked oxygen....” 

“No, nothing points in that direction. He's fine in that sense,” Wagemann asserted. “The doctor acted well and quickly. We will be able to tell you more tomorrow.” 

“Let me explain you a little what happened and perhaps that would ease your fears a bit. The underlying disease after an acute myocardial infarction is, almost invariably, arterioscleroses of the coronary arteries. The heart muscle needs always a plentiful supply of blood rich in oxygen to carry out the task of pumping blood supply that reaches through the network of arteries coronary. When a plaque erodes or breaks an atheroma in a coronary artery wall, it quickly forms a thrombus or clot that can obstruct completely and abruptly the lumen of the artery, interrupting blood flow and leaving a part of cardiac muscle without irrigation. When this happens, the part of the heart stops contracting. If the heart muscle lack of oxygen and nutrients for some time, usually more than 20 minutes, the fabric of that area dies, developing thus an acute myocardial infarction.” 

“May I see him now?” Guntram had got lost in the middle of the explanation and needed to see Konrad. 

“No, I'm afraid he's in the intensive care unit for the time being and he will stay there for four days more at least. I want to be on the safe side.” Van Horn said. “Tomorrow at eleven a.m. you can visit the patient.” 

“What about the... restrictions?” Guntram asked. 

The director seemed to be very uncomfortable with the question. “I still must speak with the people in charge of these things,” he replied and grimaced. “But I think they should allow you to see him tomorrow for a few minutes. Anyway, no foreign people will be allowed in the ICU. Only medical personnel and family.” 

“May I speak with you, doctor?” Ratko said softly to Van Horn and without waiting for his answer, he simply pulled the man out of the room. 

“Are you all right, Guntram?” Wagemann simply took the young man's wrist and checked his pulse. “It's been a horrible day for you. For all of us.” 

“I'm fine.” 

“You must go home and rest. All this stress isn't good for you. I'll give you something for tonight. Come with me to the second floor and I'll take a look at you.” 

Guntram said nothing but felt horribly tired. He sat again on the sofa and buried his face in his hands and squeezed his eyes. “If the lawyer wouldn't have insisted and pressed the judge, he would be still on that infirmary or dead.” 

“That doctor did his best considering the available resources and there's nothing we can say against him.” 

“He was left there to die. Why wasn't he taken to a hospital?”

“I don't know. The normal procedures weren't properly followed as far as I can see. I spoke with the doctor and he's going to present a complaint to the prison board. He asked for an ambulance many times but the transfer wasn't authorized until several hours later.” 

“The more hours we lose, the bigger the damage is.” Guntram said slowly. In his mind, he saw murder everywhere.

“The outcome of this situation depends on many factors. We will be more sure later. That he survived the first hours is a very good sign. I've been his doctor for over twenty years and I'm telling you, he will overcome it.”

“First Friederich and now he,” mumbled Guntram, not listening to the doctor any longer. 

“And I don't want to sign another death certificate today, young man. You must go home and rest,” the doctor scolded Guntram. Let's go to my office and then, you'll go home and I'll call you tomorrow. All right?” the old physician gently pushed Guntram out of the sofa. 

“What will I tell the children?” 

“Say nothing. The won’t understand it and you will only add more stress to them.” 

Guntram nodded. The doctor opened the door and both men started walking down the corridor. They turned around the corner and Guntram stood there, frozen at the sight of his father speaking with the judge, surrounded by two of his employees. Wagemann, mumbled a “I'll see you downstairs,” before he quickly passed by the men standing in the middle of the blue striped cream corridor.  

“I was just telling councillor Lacroix about the terms...” the old man started to speak and gulped when Guntram stared at him. 

“Terms?” Guntram's voice was louder than normal. “What terms? We should at least impeach you for refusing proper medical help to a man suffering a heart attack. I will not forget this.” 

“Mr. de Lisle,” Michel interfered quickly and grabbed his own son by the arm, pulling him away from the abated man. “Come with me and I will explain them to you.” 

“There's nothing to explain.” Guntram barked at his father. “Keep your men away from him,” he addressed the man in front of his employees.  

“Do you know who are you speaking to?” the judge rose his voice. 

“I do. It's you who seems to have forgotten it.” Guntram glared at him. 

“Only you and one hour per day. Nothing related to the case can be discussed with the prisoner.” Heiko Heinemann said haughtily but he had never felt so nervous in his life. De Lisle was known to be more volatile than the duke had ever been and there was the rumor that he had killed two lowlifes during his escape from his captivity in Russia. The fact that the Russians had done nothing about it, not even questioning him, was a clear sign that the rumors were true. On top, he was now running all of Lintorff's companies with an iron hand and he looked like he wanted blood now. His blood and a furious billionaire was a powerful and dangerous enemy.

“Keep your hounds out of the room.” Guntram seethed. 

“That's not possible.” 

“Make it possible,” Guntram barked and the employees took a step back. 

“I need some guarantees from you. The risk of escape...” 

“Where? How? He has suffered a massive heart attack,” Guntram felt like punching the judge in the face. The desire to do it was overpowering. 

“I was just enlightening his honor about the compensation we are going to demand from the Swiss State due to their lack of diligence and this gross violation of my client's human rights,” Michel said smugly. “Of course it will all depend on the damaged caused by this unexplainable refusal to offer proper medical assistance but my team is already considering the amount exceeding the billion.” 

“The billion?” Judge Heinemann blinked several times at the number. 

“No, I'm sorry. I meant billions. We are speaking of a man who legally makes such amounts and after this episode, all of his ways of making a living are seriously... harmed by the state.” Michel shrugged. “My team is already checking the duke's last tax declaration. It's an easy case. We already have the first doctor's statement, medical records and I believe this man is seriously upset with the way things were handled.” 

“Let's do not rush into things,” the judge cleared his throat. “The best will be to follow this hospital's guidelines and carry on discreetly, gentlemen. None of us wants any of this to be leaked to the press.” 

“Of course not,” Michel rushed to say as he pinched his son to keep him quiet, aware that his boy's eyes spoke murder. “You can leave one of your men, in civil clothes outside the room or the stationary and we give you our word that no worldly matters will be spoken inside the patient's room. Anyhow, we're speaking of a heart patient.” 

“Yes, I can see that this is the best course of action. We will soon announce the terms of the bail and for the time being the duke can recover here. Once the bail is paid, we will order his release and announce the non-judiciary agreement two weeks later.” 

“This is kidnapping and attempted murder,” Guntram said and ignored the pain when Michel fiercely squeezed his arm. “That's what it is.” 

“Justice has been served. To the best of my abilities. I trust you're able to see it or that it is explained to you.” 

“You'll get your money,” Guntram spat and Michel closed his eyes at his son's harsh tone. “But remember, Rome does not pay traitors.”

* * *

“I can't believe you're my son!” Michel exploded once he was inside his car. “That was idiotic! That man is a federal judge! His hand is all what you have preventing Lintorff to be locked down in an American prison!”

“I'm over that!” Guntram fired back and Michel looked at him speechless. 

“That's not what I taught you,” he said. 

“I've learned a few things on my own.” Guntram growled and fixed his eyes on the raindrops playing races on the window as his father drove away. For a second he guessed the rainbow colors inside one of the watery semi-spheres when the street lights illuminated it. “Can I stay tonight at your house?” he asked. “I don't want to drive all the way to the castle and tomorrow I have to be early in the hospital.”

“Right, maybe Fairuza's breakfast puts some common sense in that thick skull of yours,” Michel sighed. “Please, do me a favor. Be quiet and let me do my job.”

“If I wouldn't have shouted with this motherfucker, Konrad would be dead right now.” Guntram growled. “I know that's your dream, but try not to let me see it all the time.” 

“Do you really think that?” Michel stopped in front of the red lights and faced is son. “It's not true.” 

Guntram snorted at the obvious lie. 

“If Lintorff were alone, I would be dancing on top of his grave but he's with you and my grandchild loves him like a father. I don't want you to go through  all the things I did when your mother died.” Michel accelerated when the lights changed to green, too furious to look at his son. 

“I'm sorry, Michel.” Guntram spoke softly when his father stopped the car in front of the large iron gate. “I didn't mean to be so rude.” 

“You're about to explode. Calm down,” Michel spoke calmly.  

“How? He's nearly dead and they don't let me see him. His father just died and I have to keep it to myself. My children have no friends any more and their two parents have a foot on the grave. What else? Ah yes, all the Serbs told me to fuck off. Things can't get worse than this.” 

“Guntram, we have the agreement written on paper, officially communicated to us. They can't go back now. We don't know what happened in the middle since Lintorff became sick and the judge found out what was going on. As you can see now, he's not running the show. He's nothing but a pawn who was supposed to ship Lintorff away,” Michel said with an even voice. “He learnt about the heart attack when I went there for the second time to persuade him to grant Lintorff a special permission. He was shocked and didn't know what to do. I think his first thought was that everything was a ruse. We argued and he threw me out of his office. I spoke with you and you did what you did. I can tell you now, that once he went to the hospital and realized that everything was true, he was very afraid. I was there and saw it.” 

“He should. He's a dead man walking.” 

“Listen to yourself!” Michel shouted Gutram as his hand hit the wheel. “You're like them,” he added in a softer tone.  

“I have to. All of them are expecting me to set an exemplary punishment on this man. What good is the Order if our own leader is killed in prison, like a second-rate street-dealer?” 

“Guntram...” 

“I'll leave it to the Serbs once Konrad is out. I can't do it but I understand the need of doing it.” 

“Leave it to Lintorff. After all, it is his life. You're not a gangster like all the others.”

“I'm no better than Constantin Repin.” Guntram admitted softly. “I...” but he couldn't continue as the words and thoughts rushed through his mind. “I've done things I'm not proud of. I will have to... get the money through non-conventional channels.” 

“I know that and remember I can help you with this.” 

“It's going to be the largest Bitcoin transaction in the world.” 

“Bitcoin isn't big enough for what you need. I'll show you the right way to do it.” 

“What's wrong with us? You're teaching me how to evade the law.” 

“I'm only trying to instill some subtleness in you. My father used to say that Pascal was like a bull, raging against everything head first and I like a fox. He was always telling us to work together because we weren't good enough on our own.” 

“I don't know if I can do it.” 

“You must. Take one step at a time. We will start with the clean cash we have. Tomorrow, and then, the judge will have something to show to his masters. Then, we will try with the rest. If you rush now, you'll screw it up and that's what they want.” 

“You're right, papa.” 

“Of course I am. I've been playing this game all my life. I moved all of Repin's fortune in less than three years.” 

“I don't have all that time. Konrad can't return to prison. We have a month or maybe six weeks tops.”