TS3 Chapter 20

 Chapter 20

January 25^th, 2016 

Rome 

Milan won fifty Swiss francs when Guntram sighed visibly upset the moment the youth saw him standing at the Zurich airport's entrance. “Goran sent me,” Milan said in a hurry before Guntram would speak out. 

“Let's get one thing straight. I “fixed it” with your boss but we didn't say yes to the “big brother bear” thing again.” Guntram's foot tapped the room when Milan approached him at the airline's business class queue.

“If you're boss now, you should cry for your own jet. Like Dahler or Von Kleist do. Heck, even Alexei does it now and then.” Milan used his broad smile to calm down Guntram. 

“It's only for the day. No need to.” Guntram sighed again as he looked for his mobile phone. “It was supposed to be cheaper if I'm alone, but with you and all your friends around, an Airbus 380 would have been a better deal.” 

“Don't be stingy.” Guntram glared at Milan. “Sir,” the Serb corrected himself hastily.  

“It's only visiting the Lintorffs.” Guntram thanked the check counter lady and waited for Milan to show his ticket. 

“That's why Mirko comes along with me. The Italians pee on their pants when they see him. Hasn't my baby grown up great? Let me see your seat.” Milan peered over Guntram's shoulder and chuckled. “Window. You get Mirko next to you. I'm in the row behind you.” 

* * *

Rome 

'They took it relatively well,' thought Guntram as he slouched on the back seat of the limousine. 'I'm alive.'

'Marriage didn't help Armin out of his childishness. Does he think you inherit this job?' Guntram let a long sigh at the memory of the gigantic tantrum the only one year younger man had thrown when his future seat at the board had been cancelled. 'He just called me filthy traitor only twice. We're improving.' 

“Where do you want to go now, Guntram?” Milan asked solicitously. 

“Airport.” 

“We have five to six hours before the plane leaves. Don't you want to visit a museum or go eating?” 

“I'll get something at the lounge. Just tell the driver to drive.” Guntram felt extremely tired after a three hours closed meeting with Albert and Armin. Di Mattei was right; they weren't good enough for the business any longer. Being nice wasn't enough. They should have been able to provide original solutions to the Komturen worries and new services.

“Very well,” Milan nodded and closed the door. 

Guntram saw how Mirko sat next to the driver and whispered something. 'Oh no. Mirko as nanny again.'

The car drove quickly to the Fiumiccino Airport, followed by another one. Before Guntram could take his leather portfolio from the seat next to him, Mirko grabbed it and held the door open for him. “Thank you,” Guntram said softly and entered the lounge. He saw Milan overtake them and directly walk towards the Business Class counter to see if he could get them an earlier flight. 

“Consort,” Mirko called Guntram and the young man's back went stiff. “I'd like to have a word with you. In private.” 

'This is the moment when he slits my throat,' thought Guntram but nodded. “At the lounge, please.” 

“No luck. All earlier flights are overbooked. We have to wait.” Milan joined them and said contrite. 

“It's all right,” Guntram replied tiredly and gave his mobile phone and passport to Milan to let him do the check in for him. 

“It's been a hellish week,” Guntram mumbled to himself and Mirko cast his eyes down, embarrassed. 

Milan rejoined them and they walked towards the security checks and to the lounge. Upon arriving, Guntram felt so tired that he sat on one of the couches and closed his eyes, forgetting all about his hunger. Mirko stealthily approached Guntram and made him jump.

“I brought you this,” Mirko said and put on the crystal table a double coffee and a warm sandwich. “There's also a Thai soup.” 

“It's all right. Thank you,” said Guntram, still feeling a bit groggy. He looked around and Milan was nowhere in sight. “You said you wanted to speak with me.” 'He even knows that I take stevia and no sugar. Creepy.' 

Mirko sat next to him and looked at Guntram in the eyes. “I wanted to offer you an apology for my behavior in the past years. I misjudged you.” 

Guntram was surprised that of all people Mirko would be saying something like this. “It's all right. Forget it,” Guntram said. 

“I overstepped the line many times.” Mirko said. “I really thought that you were a traitor, a weakling and a disgrace to all of us when you left. Then I found out the truth about why you were acting so crazy and understood your reasons. I see now that you are doing your best to solve all our problems. You stopped all this... thing with this heathen and all of us are  glad for that.” 

“Mirko, you found the microphone. I'd be an idiot to stay under the circumstance. I don't know why he did this to me, but facts speak louder than words.” ‘Again with the Altair Affair? Lord, don't they have something else to do with their lives besides poking their fingers into my life?'

“I don't know what to do to repair the damage I caused you, sire.” Mirko said gravely. 

“Just don't do it again.” Guntram sighed. “I'm very tired of everything,” he said out loud. “When I left the Emirates, I was happy and sure that I was going to start a new life. There would be obstacles but it would be something entirely different. Look at me now.” 

“Sire, with all due respect, you were out of your mind when you made that decision.” Mirko's voice was firm. “You, of all people, would have renounced to our Lord, Jesus Christ? Would you have denied that He's the Son of God and said that He's just a prophet?” 

“You don't know him as I do. It would have never come to that.” Guntram repeated the sentence tiredly. 

“Why do you want to leave us when we are your congregation?”

“You're Orthodox, Mirko. I'm Catholic.” 

“We are Christians. You've seen what they do to our people.” 

“Not all of them,” Guntram pointed out. “Not all Muslims are terrorists.” 

“All terrorists are Muslims.” Mirko's lips were pressed thin. “We will never agree,” Mirko shook his head. “But what I wanted to tell you is that we all respect what you're doing now that you amended your ways.” 

'Great, the psycho killers are happy with me,' Guntram thought sarcastically. “Thank you,” he preferred to answer. “I didn't treat you fairly in the past, Mirko. I sided with Fefo and didn't separate your professional performance from the personal sphere. I offer you my apologies.” 

“That's very noble from you, Consort.” Mirko bowed his head. 

'Another one who didn't get the memo.' Guntram forced a smile and began to rummage in his portfolio, looking for an excuse to send Mirko away. 'The Consort shit strikes back. I'll make fifty copies of my divorce sentence and pass them around. No, I'll publish it in many newspapers.' 

Quickly enough, Guntram got distracted with the companies’ reports Ferdinand had sent him and forgot all about Mirko. The minutes flew by and Mirko, seeing that his boss was giving him the cold shoulder, went away to look for something to eat. Two minutes later, Milan took his place and began to read a magazine he had found at the reception. Guntram didn't notice the change of bodyguards. 

An hour later, Guntram's eyes were sore from reading the small numbers in his iPad. He put the devise away and wondered if they would be any salmon sandwiches left. Milan was peacefully reading “The Daily Express” in his mobile phone and Guntram shook his head. 

“Why do you always read that trash?” he asked with a smile. 

“I don't waste my time reading the lies of the press. You're the first one to despise them. Besides this one, has a crusader on the top.” 

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Guntram chuckled at the red and white logo. “But it's an Englishman, do you know that?” 

“It comes with all the latest rubbish from ISIS.” Milan said proudly. “Russia Today too.” 

“Do you read the new Pravda too?” Guntram asked amused. 'Constantin hated their guts,’ he thought with a touch of melancholy. 

“Look here. Did you read about this anywhere else?” Milan pointed at his mobile and Guntram took it when he saw the photo of two bearded men dressed in black fatigues, carrying M-16s. 

“What's it? New atrocity?” He asked distractedly. “I really don't want to ruin my day with this.” His eyes focused on the headline and his blood froze. 

ISIS Attack and Kill Saudi Royals

“They had it coming.” Milan shrugged while Guntram frantically began to read the article, looking for clues, afraid that Altair might have been there. Something inside him screamed danger. 

“Always feeding the extremists so it was about time they reaped what they sowed.” Milan smiled beatifically.

“It says some fifty to sixty members of the royal family were kidnapped when they were hunting close to northern Iraq. The few staff member who could escaped asked for help at the city of Turaif. The royals had been visiting the Harrat al Harrah Reserve after spending time at the city of Al Qurayyat. They were attacked at dawn as they had spent the night in the desert. Witnesses say they were attacked by some hundred Jihadi armed with heavy weapons and driving Toyota Hilux.” 

“Sure. They all stole the same black van.” 

“I didn't say they were black.” Guntram frowned at Milan's slip. 

“There's one in the back of the photo.” Milan rose his eyes to the ceiling. He knew the interrogation game better than Guntram. “Proudly provided by Uncle Obama.” 

“You don't know that.” Guntram started to read the piece again, looking for any name or something that could tell him what had happened. “Many feared dead” meant nothing to him. 'Maybe he wasn't there.' He automatically got his mobile phone out of his pocket and began to look for Altair's contact when Milan snatched the phone from his hand. 

“What are you doing?” Guntram yelled at Milan and several people turned their heads around. 

“Do you want to talk with an ISIS commander?” Milan shook his head and put the phone in his trousers' pocket. “Do you really want to be someone who calls a dead man? I thought you knew better.” 

“Maybe Altair wasn't there.” 

“Maybe. Wait till we are in a secure place.” 

“My line is encrypted.” 

“Nothing is encrypted nowadays. Do you want a coffee? I'm getting one.” Milan rose from the sofa and balanced on his two feet making Guntram feel as if he were trapped in a daze of disbelief. 

“No, thank you,” Guntram said coldly before he began to google for the names in his iPad and look for “The Daily Express” website. 

“Maybe it's a hoax,” Milan said. “It won't be the first time the press publish shit.” 

“What's ISIS doing there?” Guntram mumbled as he looked at the Google Maps image. “That's far away from Syria.” 

“They control northern Iraq.” 

“But this is Saudi Arabia.” 

“Bombs know nothing about geography, Dachs.” Milan shook his head again. 'He's so clever sometimes and then, plooff, 'hello is anybody in there?'' “Write down the name of the Arab and I can later ask people in the area.” 'So the dance starts.' 

“People in the area?” Guntram asked. 

“Russians in Latakia. Don't expect the CNN to drop by.” Milan smirked. “Old pals.” 

“How would they know?” 

“They know someone who knows somebody. Dead Royals isn't something you can keep quiet for too long. Wait! Was he not Dubaiti?” 

“Emirati, but he was visiting some relatives from his former wife's side.” Gutram said. “He told me about going hunting nearby a natural reserve in northern Saudi Arabia. It was going to be a very large party, over a hundred people. They go every year and many Emirati are invited.”

“We can do nothing until we're home.” Milan replied seriously. “Nothing besides drinking coffee. Are you sure you don't want any? You look very bad.” 

“No it's OK.” Guntram returned to his iPad and Milan left him alone. He was torn between his worry and his anger towards the Serb's careless attitude. No matter what, Altair was still a human being. 

Guntram began to read Altair's old e-mails looking for any clues of where could be his family's gathering. Altair had clearly said that they would be hunting with hawks. 

“Calm yourself down. All western Europe is half the size of Saudi Arabia.” Guntram mumbled and gulped. “There are thousands of princes and mini princes there.” The knot in his throat became bigger. 'There's no reason to attack Altair. Emiratis have no interests in the region and are Sunni.' 

'I'm overreacting.' 

 * * * 

January 25^th, 2016 

Zurich

Konrad kept a neutral face while his soul yawned at the “Powerpoint moment” -as Ferdinand used to call the presentations and reports- he was being subjected to. Dahler was overdoing it with a fifty-five minutes talk. Didn't he know that if it was “talk after dinner” one should keep his “powerpoint moment” to fifteen minutes? Goran had spaced out some thirty minutes ago and Konrad envied him. 

Konrad offered another round of cognac hoping that Michael would shut up but Michael recovered his strength after the drink. The sound made by the light scratching of Sebastian's paws against the stones alerted Konrad as the dog normally was soundly asleep at this hour. He heard some distant voices and recognized Guntram's footsteps near the library's door. 

Dieter held the door open for Guntram who formally greeted the men there and asked Goran if he could please step outside for a minute. 

Konrad saw Michael and Ferdinand look in Guntram's direction and quickly avert their eyes as if they were hiding something. It was a fleeting moment, less than the blink of an eye, but Konrad knew both men since years. 

“Is there something I should know in advance?” Konrad asked nonchalantly.

“No, why?” Ferdinand replied with that well known feigned innocence face. “Maybe there's trouble in Italy. I wouldn't be surprised.” 

“We can finish this tomorrow.” Michael said hurriedly as he closed his laptop and put it back in his portfolio. “It isn't that important.” 

Konrad's frown became even deeper. “Really?” he asked softly. 

“Of course not,” Ferdinand huffed. “I'm going home. Are you coming, Michael?” 

'That's funny. Ferdinand offering a ride to Michael? They certainly did something.' Konrad walked the men to the main entrance as they babbled about the bank's latest figures as if he didn't know them. 

The dog was nowhere to be seen when he normally would jump at Konrad's trousers whenever the visitors were gone. Puzzled, Konrad walked back to the library and heard Guntram's voice coming from the living room and he sounded agitated. 

Konrad opened the door to find Goran sitting in a chair while Guntram paced around the coffee table and the large muff followed each one of his moves, laying down next to the Serb. Goran's grim face told Konrad everything. 

“Any problems in Italy? Konrad asked softly. 

“No, no,” said Guntram softly as he forced himself to calm down. “Everything went as you wanted.” Guntram took a deep breath in. “It's something else.” 

Goran's face turned into stone and Konrad patted the dog, who rose and laid down at Konrad's feet once the duke sat. Guntram's expression was worried and he didn't sit down but continued to pace around the large living room. 

“May I ask what's the problem then?” Konrad asked Goran but the Serb didn't answer. “Guntram?” 

“It's a simple favor what I'm asking of the Order.” Guntram replied belligerently. “Isn't that what it was for?” 

“It depends on the size of the favor,” Konrad replied softly. “What's going on, if I may ask?” He tread carefully as their truce was fragile and he didn't want to wage any more battles in the domestic front.

“Guntram wants us to waste our credit with the Russians.” 

“Repin is their problem. End of story.” Konrad said laconically and bent down to pat the dog, considering the matter as finished. “The children went to bed early. They missed you.” 

Guntram looked at Konrad and bit his lips. 'You hypocrite.' 

“I need your help to get some information about a terrorist attack that happened in Saudi Arabia. It involves ISIS, allegedly,” Guntram stressed the last word but Konrad and Goran didn't cringe. “Milan can't get nothing out from his Russian connections in Latakia.” 

“If the Russians don't want to cooperate, we leave them alone then.” Goran said evenly. “That's what I was explaining to Guntram.” 

“Indeed,” said Konrad. “It's common sense.” 

“What's the use of having them as allies if you can't sneeze near them?” Guntram replied furiously but Konrad ignored the taunt in favor of massaging the ears of the contended dog. 

Konrad let Guntram pace around the room for a little longer as he turned around and began to talk in Russian with Goran. 

“Wonderful,” Guntram exploded finally. “Do I also get some Nadsat lessons too?” 

“This is proper Russian,” Konrad corrected him. “Goran was updating me.” 

“Can you help me please?” Guntram locked his eyes with Konrad's but his former husband didn't flinch. “I wrote an e-mail to Altair and he normally replies within the hour.” 

“Nothing too compromising, I assume,” Konrad said a bit upset. “Really, Guntram. The man is a spy and you worry about him?” 

“Something happened to him. He was going to that place. He mentioned the city where the attack took place.” 

Konrad's eyes bore holes in Guntram's but the young man didn't back off. 

“Goran, see what you can do.” Konrad ordered mildly. “After all, this man cooperated with us once.” 

“I will, Sire.” Goran rose to his feet and left the room in a whirlwind, furious at Guntram's willingness to get into another row with the Order. The boy was suicidal or plain stupid. Some days, Goran wasn't able to discern which one it was.  

“Thank you, Konrad.” Guntram said softly once they were alone in the dimly lit living room. “I truly appreciate this. It's very noble of you.” 

“I'll give you Goran's report as soon as I have it. Good night.” Konrad said coldly and snapped his fingers at the dog who shook his tail and began to walk towards the exit. 

“Good night and thank you again.” 

Konrad walked the stairs up to his bedroom and opened the door, letting the big animal run towards the carpet near his bed and heavily fall over it. Johannes sighed, happy to be back in his place and closed his eyes, more than ready to sleep. 

Konrad began to remove the tie and jacket with slow moves. Under his outward coolness, his heart burned with fire. How dared Guntram to ask him to look for that bedroom robber and spy? Was he so stupid that despite all, he still loved or worried about him? What the hell were those devils doing in Saudi Arabia? 

Why the Russians didn't want to speak? 

“Ferdinand,” Konrad mumbled and took his mobile phone from the bedside table. 

“You'd better tell me what have you been doing when you were abroad,” Konrad grunted when a sleepy Ferdinand picked the phone up. “The Emirates!”

“It's late. Tomorrow,” mumbled Ferdinand. 

“No. Tonight. I don't want to be accused of something I had nothing to do with! How dared you?” Konrad's fury sprang to life. Again, his own people were plotting behind his back. 

“Is it about that sheik and the lost Arabs? Whatever happened there is what the Code requires.” Ferdinand replied evenly. 

“You knew nothing about the spying! You couldn't have made that decision.” 

“Was he spying on us too?” Ferdinand howled. “Jesus!” 

“So it's your responsibility, right?” Konrad spat. “Do I have to clean after yourself too? Do I have to go in the morning and tell I don't know what to Guntram?” 

“I did nothing! We have nothing to do with this!” Ferdinand sounded truly offended. “Speak with the Russians and their infiltrated Chechens. It's their doing if this man is really dead or if the attack is for real.” 

“Speak up.” 

“After those two Russian tourist planes went down, Russians wanted revenge and with Kadyrov's agents in the field, they planned the whole thing. It's a pity this man was there but what can we do about friendly fire?” 

“Chechens? They'd ask for ransom, not murder princes.” 

“That idiot threatened Repin with blowing up his cover. Klatschko and his people swore to kill him. Someone told me they were on their way there. I know nothing else. I was glad those crazy Chechens had found something to be busy with and didn't blame us for Repin. We had nothing to do with the thing. It's a Russian thing and I wouldn't be surprised that with this, all ovtcharky are back into Kadyrov and Putin's good graces and all is forgiven. Let's don't get involved in their internal affairs, shall we?” 

“Ferdinand, you're lying.” 

“I swear to God that none of our own operatives was there. Not a single one. We left the country with Guntram.” 

“Where's Antonov?” 

“In Japan. You know that. Besides, Antonov doing a favor to those crazy Chechens? That's preposterous!” 

“You're right,” Konrad mumbled confused by the turn of events but it was quite plausible Repin's men were out seeking vengeance. Didn't Klatschko owned his life to Repin? “Antonov hates them,” he mumbled.  

“Why don't you sleep over it and tomorrow you tell Guntram that we know nothing, which is the truth because we're only imagining things based on rumors,” Ferdinand said with aplomb. “Maybe the guy is fucking with someone and doesn't want to talk to Guntram. Consider that option too.”  

* * * 

Ferdinand exhaled a long sigh of relief when he hung up the phone. 

'He can never know. I'll speak with Dähler in the morning. He needs to be convincing in front of Guntram.' 

Ferdinand turned around in the bed and yawned. 'Getting the Chechens into the mess was the best idea we could have had. Now, they're guilty and Guntram will believe it because he was there when the sheik attacked Repin.'

'Yes, that's right. No one survives Repin even if he's dead.' Ferdinand smirked and thought about drinking something to celebrate the operation. He buried himself under the comfortable covers. Now the bell was too far away from his reach and it was too tiring to move again. 

'It was a joint thing. Nothing like a bit of cooperation to achieve ever lasting results.' 

'Now the lad has to be a bit more sensible and do his work. It will be the best for all of us.' 

Tomorrow, I'll break the news to him, assuming that the Chechens did it right.' 

Ferdinand closed his eyes. Satisfied. 

'No, let's better let Guntram soak in this for a week or two. That will break that cocky attitude of his and pave the way for Konrad's great return.' 

'Yes, that's how it's done.'