Crossfire (13 page)

“Surely, they must be good for something,” she said dryly, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Anyway,” Stefan continued, smiling in response, “to make a long story short, that’s exactly how it all worked out, and by the age of nineteen I was a fully fledged member of GSG-9. This was an achievement at such a young age, because the training was brutal, and only twenty percent of candidates qualify as operatives. I excelled in my field, finally finding an outlet for my hatred. Life was good. We trained to be the best, and then we trained some more. I trained in my spare time to add to my knowledge until I could do everything, and could fill in for anyone in my team, even the sniper. When I was on leave, I spent time with Karl, who had remained in the army after his conscription ended, and had transferred to Special Forces. I turned myself into a one-man killing machine, waiting for the day when life came full circle, and I came face to face with the people who had slaughtered my family.” Stefan paused, watching her reaction.

Marcelle swallowed, having heard the hatred in his voice. That bomb in Hanover had taken an innocent boy and turned him into a man filled with rage. It was tragic and frightening at the same time. She kept her expression neutral as she motioned him to continue.

“At the age of twenty-one, I was in charge of my own five-man team, but every time we took down a target, I felt empty, because I was after a specific group, the Red Army Faction. Using the contacts available to me as a member of the Federal Border Police, I had discovered the names of the people behind the bomb at the train station, but didn’t know their whereabouts. Wolfgang Grams had gone underground and nobody had seen him in years. I hoped we would run across him and his comrades during a mission.”

Stefan got to his feet and walked over to the window again, clearly restless. “That year, 1993, we received an assignment to arrest two members of the Red Army Faction. My heart jumped when I discovered they were Wolfgang Grams and his girlfriend Birgit Hogefeld, the two brains behind the bombing in Hanover. A police informant had set up a meeting with them at the train station in Bad Kleinen. Several of our five-man teams together with normal Federal Border Police officers, staked out the train station. There were fifty-four of us on the scene, and my team had to cover the tracks, in case anyone tried to escape in that direction.”

“That’s a lot of manpower to use to catch two terrorists,” Marcelle said.

“Yes, it was too many, in my opinion. And on top of that, we were acting on old information. The arresting officers only had an old picture of Grams, so they arrested Steinmetz, the police informant, by mistake. Grams escaped, and fled towards the train tracks. Two of my men gave chase, as did I. Grams drew a pistol, killed one of my men, and wounded another. He kept running, but tripped and fell across track number four. I caught up to him, and when he saw the situation was hopeless, he tossed his gun away and smiled at me. All the hatred and rage I had been carrying inside me burst to the surface. Without even thinking, I put two bullets in his head.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Marcelle said, shifting position on the couch.

“It felt right, but it turned out to be a big mistake.” Stefan walked back to the sofa and sat next to Marcelle. “Our orders were to arrest, not kill. The authorities didn’t want Grams to be a martyr, so I had disobeyed a direct order. My men were prepared to cover for me, but there were too many eyewitnesses, and soon my team and I found we were the target of a government investigation. It became a huge incident, and the left wing press had a field day.”

“That’s just so typical,” Marcelle said irritably.

“Yes, but the government bowed to the pressure and decided to sacrifice me to save face. There was even talk about jail time for me. But I wouldn’t allow them to take even a single day from me. We sometimes did undercover work, so I had several clean identities that no one knew about, and of course, I was twenty-one, so my trust fund was available to me. I transferred all the money to a numbered account in Switzerland. A few days later, I went to town on a weekend pass, and never returned.”

“It must have been terrible to give up your dreams, after all the years of training and dedication.”

Stefan nodded. “It was. I left Germany, bitter and twisted about what had happened. But there was plenty to do for someone with my skills, though most it was illegal. For the next two years, I worked as a mercenary in places like Somalia, Sudan, Burundi and Rwanda, fighting for whichever side paid more. I cared nothing for their reasons or ideology, all I wanted was action, and a way to stop thinking. I was lost, rejected by the society I had protected for so many years. But the senseless killing and wholesale slaughter of the civil wars raging in Africa eventually made me doubt my humanity, and I got out. After the stink and filth of Africa, I was ready for a change.”

Marcelle reached out and covered his hand with hers, her eyes full of sympathy. “What a terrible life you’ve had. It could have been so different.”

Stefan didn’t respond to her touch, but got to his feet and walked to the window again. Outside it was dark, as dark as his soul. He didn’t deserve her compassion. “It gets worse,” he continued, staring into the night. “I returned to Europe, and hired my services out as a sniper. Soon someone approached me with an assignment to assassinate a prominent public figure. The fee they offered was substantial, a million dollars. I didn’t consider the target a reputable person either, so I agreed.”

He turned to face her and watched her eyes as he continued, “The hit was easy. I killed the target from half a mile away, putting my skills as a sniper to good use. My employers were delighted with my work, and gave me another target. One assignment led to another. I became a freelance assassin, accepting missions from the highest bidder, and no longer trying to justify whether the target deserved to die or not.” He paused, inviting comment.

Marcelle shifted in her seat, clearing her throat. “You weren’t a good person then.”

He nodded slowly. “No, I wasn’t. Nearly three years had passed since I had accepted the first target. I had become a butcher, much like the terrorists I had wiped out, except I had no ideology. Law enforcement agencies all over the world were after me, but had no idea who I was, of course. I had dozens of false identities, and I had become a master of disguise, so they had no chance of finding me.

“I was twenty-six years old, and felt I needed a higher purpose in life. I had grown dissatisfied with killing from a distance, and my blood lust for terrorists hadn’t abated. I took the millions of dollars I had accumulated during my career as a professional assassin, and used it to purchase an island in the North Atlantic Ocean. It was an uninhabited island, and central enough to offer me quick access to the American continent, Europe and Africa. I contacted Karl, who had become disillusioned with the poor pay in the army, and persuaded him to join me.”

“Sounds like a lethal combination,” Marcelle said dryly.

“Yes, it was, and soon Kris joined us too. He said he needed time for some research of his own. He and Karl always stuck together anyway. I was delighted, because we needed a medic in the outfit. I had a ten-bed hospital built on the island, equipped with all the latest technology, and built quarters for forty men. Then we set about recruiting mercenaries who still had some sense of loyalty, and knowledge of right and wrong. Many of the men came from Karl’s Special Forces squad, drawn by loyalty and the fact that we would be fighting terrorists on our own terms. Members of the GSG-9 unit, who had remained loyal to me, also became members of Omega. Many felt I had received a raw deal from the German government. I was grateful for their skills, which they could pass on to other members of Omega.”

“And this time you were trying to do something good.”

Stefan nodded, returning to the couch to sit next to Marcelle. “Yes, finally, we were ready to go into action. Omega had been born. We started tracking down terrorist organizations and destroying them. Of course, my first target was what was left of the Red Army Faction. Soon word spread, and people started paying me to go after terrorists, mostly on vengeance missions, for someone terrorists had killed or maimed. We made a lot of money going after Somali terrorists, using a destroyer that the US government had given us. Businessmen and high-powered officials, who had received death threats or warnings from terrorist groups, contacted me to protect them. I accepted these missions, with the exception that I would assign men to track down the terrorists involved. I would then solve the problem permanently, if you know what I mean.”

“You killed them,” Marcelle stated, fascinated by the energy she detected in Stefan’s manner. This was his passion.

“Yes, we neutralized the threat, permanently. Wealthy people called us in when terrorists or other criminals kidnapped members of their families. Our mission wasn’t to negotiate, but to find the victim, get him or her out, and leave some dead bodies for the police. We had an excellent success rate and business flourished. People paid Omega incredible sums of money, because fear has a price, after all. My men became the highest paid mercenaries in the business.”

“And all the while you were expanding your organization,” Marcelle said approvingly.

“Yes. When government intelligence agencies uncovered the location of terrorist bases, they often couldn’t act on it, for fear of causing an international incident. We were mercenaries, so the rules didn’t apply to us. My men and I would find the bases, and wipe them out, wherever they were. We became experts at warfare in difficult conditions, and governments prized our services.

“The American DEA made use of my sniping skills, and paid me to infiltrate the jungles in Colombia where drug kingpins generally made their fortresses. Sometimes I would hide for days, waiting for the target to stick his head out the door, so I could blow it off his shoulders. That was dangerous work, because right after the hit we had to disappear into the jungle. It was hit and run, because I generally only took two men with me. A larger force would have been too noticeable, so evasion was of the essence. We didn’t have the manpower to survive a direct confrontation with the enemy.”

Stefan paused, and his face changed as if remembering something unpleasant. “It was on a job that went badly wrong that we ran into a large enemy force. We fought a hopeless battle before the Colombians killed my two companions and captured me after I ran out of ammunition. They were rather pissed off that their boss no longer had a head.”

He closed his eyes as he remembered, “For twelve days they tortured me, trying to find out who had hired me, and the location of our headquarters. Luckily Karl and some of my men managed to rescue me in time.”

“It must have been a dreadful experience,” Marcelle said, putting a cool hand on his arm.

He covered her hand with his. “It was a bad experience, but I came through it all right, and the location of La Montagne remains a secret to this day. My men live on the island with me, and if they marry, their wives join them. This way they’re not vulnerable to retribution or kidnapping from terrorists who may have uncovered their identity.

“Membership of my army is for life, and new members go through rigorous screening and security checks before I accept them. We have expanded a lot since inception. My army now numbers over three hundred men, and we have our own communications infrastructure, and our own satellites orbiting the earth. We have information sharing agreements with police forces and intelligence agencies around the world. I guess you can say the reality turned out even better than my vision.”

He leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “The terrorists have been feeling the effects of our efforts, and have begun to target us, trying to strike back. They have tried to ambush us more than once, and this time they partly succeeded. We were due to meet an informant at an abandoned factory on the outskirts of Paris. He claimed to have important information on an Algerian terrorist organization we had been hunting. The informant had been working for me for two years, and I considered him reliable. When he insisted on dealing with me face to face, I didn’t find it odd. But it’s obvious now that he had blown his cover somehow. No doubt they killed him right after they forced him to arrange the meeting with us.” He grimaced. “The terrorists laid an ambush, and we walked right into it. They killed two of my men instantly and wounded me. Karl dragged me out of the line of fire, and put down covering fire so I could escape. I found my way to the post office, trying to evade my would-be killers. You know the rest.”

He searched her face as he concluded, “So now you know all there is to know about me, no lies or deception. Yes, I was bad, as bad as can be, but I think I’ve made good in the years that followed. People can sleep a little easier at night now, and innocent victims don’t have to die bloody, undignified deaths because of some madman’s idea of a new world.”

Marcelle was silent for a long time as she mulled over what he had told her. “So you’re not just a member of Omega, you’re the boss.”

“Yes, and Karl is my lieutenant. I wasn’t quite so forthcoming at first, I know.”

“And you trust me with this information?”

“Marcelle, you gave me back my life. Yes, I trust you. You trusted me enough to give me my weapons this morning, so I’m returning that trust in kind.”

“To be honest, I believe what you’re doing isn’t wrong, even if it is unconventional. You’re saving lives. I can’t condemn you for that. In this world a tough solution is necessary, but at what personal cost?” Serious gray eyes searched his face. “This time you nearly paid for it with your life. What about next time?”