“First item,” said Francois. “One of our enforcers in Lisbon, Luis Pinto, was arrested yesterday afternoon during a pick-up. There was some trouble, and Pinto broke the man’s jaw. A neighbour called the police.”
“Where is he now?” replied Kalakia.
“He’s in a holding cell.”
“Send someone to get the story from him, and find out who the arresting officer was.”
“Antonio Cadija is in Athens right now. I’ll get De Bruin to fly in from Amsterdam.”
“Good. Next?”
“Kelly Larsen from the IMF wants to meet next week to discuss the tribute arrangements for a handful of Fortune Global 500 companies.”
“On behalf of whom?”
“The United States, The United Kingdom, China, Germany and a few others,” said Francois, referring to his documents. “They say unemployment is up because the companies don’t have money to invest.”
“Make her wait until the week after.”
“Ok.” Francois jotted into his notepad.
“What about Inselheim?” asked Kalakia.
“Matthias Vidrik picked him up this morning in Dahlem. He has him at the interrogation facility and is questioning him right now. It’s still possible that Frederich used him as a pawn to establish contact and that they never actually met. Either way, we’ll know.”
Kalakia gave a nod of approval. Inselheim had been acting strangely in recent weeks. He had been missing payments and flying out of the country more often than usual. Kalakia wanted to be sure there was no conspiracy brewing between Frederich and Inselheim. So far Frederich had checked out, but Kalakia would leave nothing to chance.
“Have our men search Inselheim’s house and office. Make it today,” he said.
“I’ll make the call right away.”
“While you do that, call Scheffler,” said Kalakia. “Make sure he handles Frederich’s training.”
“Elite Squad?” said Francois with raised eyebrows. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we start him in Pulver’s unit?”
“He can handle it. Scheffler will know how to maximise his potential.”
“Ok. I’ll make sure Scheffler receives the necessary instructions.”
“Good,” said Kalakia.
“Speaking of the boy. His DNA analysis is done,” said Francois.
“Yes?” said Kalakia, tilting his head.
“Nothing. It’s strange. He has mostly Polish and Prussian German ancestry, but we couldn’t find any record of close relatives. He has some distant cousins spread throughout Germany, France, The United Kingdom and America, but it’s unlikely they know anything. Intel are digging to find out about his history before Kraas Abel found him in the forest. They know it’s top priority.”
Kalakia looked out of the window and nodded. He was unsettled by this gap in Frederich’s past. His instructions were clear; spare no cost and leave no trail unchecked.
“Last thing. The car will pick you up at midday tomorrow for the meeting with The Council in Budapest,” said Francois.
Kalakia nodded.
“Stirner wants to talk about the succession plan,” said Francois.
“Of course he does,” replied Kalakia.
“I should say, you’ve been quite preoccupied with the boy recently,” said Francois, gazing down at Frederich’s file spread out on Kalakia’s table. “Surely you’re not—”
“Anything else on the agenda?” interjected Kalakia with a hard stare.
“No,” replied Francois, smiling politely. “That’s everything.”
“Thank you, Francois.”
Francois nodded and stood up. He organised his papers and packed them into his briefcase then exited the apartment.
“I don’t think he knows anything,” said Pilz, rubbing his knuckles while walking over to where Matthias Vidrik had been watching him go to work.
Vidrik stared suspiciously at the Berlin-based soldier who often assisted him with interrogations. They were in the middle of playing what Vidrik called the bad cop, worse cop routine. Pilz worked the captive over with his fists, and Vidrik took them to hell when necessary. Today their guest was the billionaire Michael Inselheim, and Vidrik was convinced that the head of the Inselheim Group was hiding something.
Vidrik stood up and removed his suit jacket and placed it over the back of his chair. He looked down on the smaller Pilz and gave him a light tap on the back.
“Get the blowtorch.”
Vidrik sucked some air through his nose and rolled his shoulders to help enhance the rush of anticipation. He had been looking forward to an intimate moment with Inselheim. As one of the top snipers in The League, and the best in Europe, Vidrik’s sharpshooting skills were often needed. Long range hits provided interesting logistical challenges. Vidrik appreciated the art of the sniper. It required a level of patience which few men had; a days-long wait in some remote, exposed location for a seconds-long window of opportunity to take the shot. Stillness and focus for long periods came to Vidrik like breathing. He was born with it. But long-range still lacked something for him. From 600 feet, his prey was no different to an ant, and stepping on an ant was no fun. He got the most pleasure from seeing the blood, snot and tears of his victim up-close. It was the kind of power he could savour. So when Francois called early in the morning and gave Vidrik the task of investigating a potential conspiracy against The League, he was glad to oblige.
Vidrik looked across and studied Inselheim, chained naked from the ceiling by his arms. He thought Inselheim looked interesting in that position. More real.
The world knew Inselheim as the risk-taking businessman with the swagger and sharp suits. But Vidrik knew men like Inselheim better than that. Their entire existence was a show. Beneath his mask, Inselheim was a spoiled brat and a snivelling opportunist. He was calm and controlled until his buttons were pressed, then he was just as likely to
