Games of the Hangman (69 page)

"There
were several such rooms.
 
They were all
decorated the same way, with purple walls and black silk hangings and the smell
of incense.
 
Sometimes we were masked;
sometime the other people were masked."

"Tell me
about the sacrifices," said the Bear.
 
"You said mock human sacrifices?"

"The idea
was that the victim should die at the moment of climax.
 
It was something that Erika, in particular,
liked.
 
She had a knife, a thing with a
wide, heavy blade, and she used to wave it.
 
Then she brought a cat in and killed it at just that moment, and I was
covered in blood."
 
There was the
sound of retching, cut off abruptly by an editing break.

The Chief
signaled for Fitzduane to stop the tape.
 
He looked shaken, the full implications of what he had been hearing
finally beginning to sink in.
 
"And
next came people," he spat.
 
"It's making me sick.
 
Is
there much more of this?"

"Not a
lot," said the Bear.
 
"I'll
summarize it for you if you like."

The Chief
steepled his hands, lost in thought.
 
After perhaps a full minute he looked up at the Bear.
 
"It's just hitting home.
 
It's so incredibly sick... so perverted... so
evil."

"We asked
about the knife," said the Bear.
 
"Balac told Paulus that he'd had it specially made.
 
It was a reproduction of a ritual sacrificial
knife used by a pagan cult in
Ireland
.
 
He'd seen a drawing in some book and taken a
fancy to it.
 
Apparently he has a library
of pornography and black magic and the sicker aspects of human behavior.
 
He uses these books to set up his games.
 
The more elaborate rules are written down in
what he calls ‘The Grimoire.’"

"A
grimoire is a kind of magician's rule book, isn't it?
"
Kersdorf
broke in.
 
"I seem to remember
running across a case involving a grimoire many years ago.
 
Again the whole black magic thing was
essentially sexually motivated."

"Who else
was involved apart from Balac, Erika, and these kids?" asked the
Chief.
 
"Did he recognize anyone, or
was he the only adult supporting player?"

"There
were others," said the Bear, "but they were always masked.
 
He said he thought he recognized some of the
voices."
 
The Bear gave a list of
names to the Chief, who shook his head.
 
He wasn't altogether surprised at the ambassador mentioned, but the
other names were from the very core of the Bernese establishment.

"There
were also some young male prostitutes involved from time to time," said
the Bear.
 
"He gave me several
names, first names.
 
One of them was
Klaus.
 
The description fits; it was
Minder.
 
Another was the Monkey.
 
Knowing he was involved in the same games as
Minder, Ivo went after the Monkey and, I guess went too far trying to make him
talk.
 
Ivo, the poor little bastard, was
trying to find Klaus Minder's killer.
 
Sir Ivo, indeed.
 
He
found out too much, and his quest got him killed."

"Heini,"
said the Chief, "I really don't think I want to hear any more.
 
The question is
,
how
do we pick up this psycho without losing more people?"

"We've
got some ideas on that score," said Fitzduane.
 
"We thought we might take a tip from the
ancient Greeks."

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

They were on a
secluded testing range that was part of the military base at Sand.
 
The man in combat fatigues had the deep tan
of someone who spends a great deal of time in the mountains.
 
Paler skin around the eyes indicated long
periods wearing ski goggles.
 
He was a
major, a member of the Swiss Army's elite grenadiers, and a counterterrorist expert.
 
He normally advised the Federal Police
antiterrorist unit but wasn't against practicing his craft at the cantonal or
indeed city level.
 
His specialty was
explosives.

"You
haven't thought of blasting in, I suppose?" he said diffidently.
 
"There would be fewer constraints in
relation to the charges used, and I'm told it's quite a common technique when
you want to gain access.
 
Armies have
been doing it for years when they don't feel like going through the door."
 
He grinned cheerfully.

"Very
funny," said the Bear.
 
"If we
blast in, we won't do anyone standing near the entry hole much good."

"And
since one of those people is likely to be me," said Fitzduane, "I
don't think a hell of a lot of your suggestion — though I'm sure it's kindly
meant."

The major
looked shocked.
 
"My dear fellow, we
won't harm a hair of your head.
 
We can
calculate the charges required exactly.
 
Just one little boom, and lo, an instant doorway."

"I once
knew an explosives freak in the U.S. Special Forces," said Fitzduane.
 
He was known as No-Prob Dudzcinski because
every time he was asked to do something with explosives, no matter how complex,
he would reply, ‘No problem, man,’ and set to work.
 
He was very good at his job."

"Well,
there you are," said the major.

"He blew
himself up," said Fitzduane, "and half an A-team.
 
I've been suspicious of explosives ever
since.
 
I don't suppose you want to hear
his last words?"

"No,"
said the major.

"Besides,"
said the Bear, "our target is partial to burying Claymores and similar
devices in the walls, which could be set off by an external explosion.
 
We want a shaped charge that will blast out
and at the same time muffle any concealed device."

A truck ground
its way in low gear toward them.
 
Well secured
in the back was what looked like a rectangular packing case the size of a large
doorway, but only about fifteen centimeters
thick.
 
The truck drew up near them and stopped.
 
Three soldiers jumped out, unlashed the
packing case, and maneuvered it against a sheet of 1.5 centimeter armor plate
bolted to the brick wall of an old practice fortification.

"It's
quite safe to stand in front of the packing case," said the major,
"but the normal practice is to follow routine safety
regulations."
 
Fitzduane and the
Bear needed little encouragement.
 
They
moved to the shelter of an observation bunker set at right angles to the
packing case.
 
They were joined by the
three soldiers.
 
The major brought up the
rear, walking nonchalantly, as befitted his faith in his expertise.
 
All in the bunker put on steel helmets.
 
Fitzduane felt slightly foolish.

The major had
a pen-shaped miniature radio transmitter in his hand.
 
"You're familiar with the principle of a
shaped charge, or focused charge, as some people call it?" he asked.

Fitzduane and
the Bear nodded.
 
The shaped charge
concept was based on the discovery that the force of an explosion could be
tightly focused in one direction by putting the explosive in a container of an
appropriate shape and leaving a hollow for the explosion to expand into.
 
The explosive force would initially follow
the line of least resistance, and thereafter momentum would take over.
 
The principle had been further refined to the
point where explosives could be used in a strip form to cut out specific
shapes.

"I'd be
happier if we were cutting through one material," said the major.
 
"Armor plate alone is no problem, but
when materials are combined, funny things happen.
 
In this case the charges are on the rear of
the packing case.
 
In the center we have
Kevlar bulletproof material reinforced with ceramic plates; we can't use armor
plate because it would make the whole thing too heavy.
 
At the front we have left space for a
painting, as you requested.
 
To view the
painting, you don't have to open the entire crate, which could be
embarrassing.
 
Instead we've installed
hinged viewing doors."

"As a
matter of interest," said Fitzduane, "will the painting be damaged by
the explosion?
 
We're going to have to
put something fairly valuable in there if we are to get our target's attention,
and knowing the way you Swiss operate, I'm likely to end up getting the bill if
the painting is harmed."

The major
sighed.
 
"Herr Fitzduane, I assume
this is your idea of a little joke, but whether it is or not, you may rest
assured that your painting will be unscathed.
 
The entire force of the explosion will be focused against the wall.
 
The canvas won't even ripple.
 
Watch!"

He pressed the
button on the transmitter.
 
There was a
muted crack.
 
A door-shaped portion of
the steel plate and wall fell away as if sliced out of paper with a razor
blade.
 
There was no smoke.
 
Dust rose from the rubble and was dissipated
by the wind.

Fitzduane
walked across to the front of the packing case and opened the viewing
doors.
 
In place of the painting was a
large poster extolling the virtues of Swissair.
 
It was unscathed.
 
He turned to
the major, who was standing smugly, arms folded across his chest.
 
"You'd have been a wow in
Troy
."
 
He looked at the packing case again.
 
"I think we can improve our act.
 
How familiar are you with stun
grenades?"

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

"Simon,"
said Fitzduane into the phone, "are you doing your lunchtime salon
tomorrow?"

Balac
laughed.
 
"As
usual.
 
You're most welcome to
drop in."

"I just
want to say good-bye.
 
I'm leaving
Bern
.
 
I've done all I can, and it's time to go
home."

Balac
chuckled.
 
"You've certainly seen a
different side of
Bern
from most visitors.
 
We'll miss you.
 
See you tomorrow."

"
Ciao
," said Fitzduane.
 
He put down the phone and looked across at
the Bear.
 
"Now it's up to Paulus
von Beck.
 
Will it be Plan A or Plan
B?"

They left
Kirchenfeldstrasse and drove to police headquarters, where they put in two
hours' combat shooting on the pistol range.
 
The Bear was a good instructor, and Fitzduane felt his old skills coming
back.
 
For the last twenty minutes of the
session they used Glaser ammunition.
 
"Your shotgun rounds are based on these," said the Bear.
 
"In case you think nine-millimeter
rounds are inadequate, as they normally are, reflect on the fact that hits with
a Glaser are ninety percent fatal."

Fitzduane held
up a Glaser round.
 
"Do the good
guys have a monopoly on these things?"

"Their
sale is restricted," said the Bear.

Fitzduane
raised an eyebrow.

"No,"
said the Bear.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

The Chief Kripo
was talking on a secure line to Kilmara in
Ireland
.

Kilmara
sounded concerned.
 
"Is there no
other way?
 
Hugo isn't twenty-two
anymore.
 
One's reflexes slow up with
age."

"It's
Fitzduane's idea," said the Chief.
 
"You know what's happened when we've gone in the conventional
way.
 
We've taken casualties.
 
Hugo believes half the battle is getting
in.
 
Then, if Balac is present, his own
safety will prevent him using his gadgetry.
 
It becomes a conventional arrest —
mano
a mano
."

"Supposing
Balac isn't alone?"

"Fitzduane
won't move until he's blown the shaped charge," said the Chief.
 
"We've added stun grenades to the
mix.
 
That should buy Fitzduane the time
he needs and will enable us to get help to him fast.
 
We're using our best people for this."