Chapter Eight.

The headlines in the morning copy of Wiener Zeitung reported that there had been a massive explosion in the Heiligenstadt District sector of Döbling, the previous evening. The explosion had taken place in the Wiedenbräukeller in Eisenbahnstrasse, and there had been extensive loss of life amongst the establishment's clientele. The building had been demolished by the explosion, the cause of which was being unofficially suggested by the authorities, as being the result of a major gas leak. Identification of the victims was being hampered by the effects of the ensuing fire. Authorities stated that it was fortunate that the surrounding properties were not residential; or loss of life could easily have been considerably higher.

Early reports of the number of victims suggested that the death toll of the clientele was in excess of thirty. A spokesman for the City utility company was reported to have said that it had not received any calls from people smelling gas in that area.

"Most of the time, when there is a gas leak, people smell it,"

He said; adding carefully…

"But not always."

It was not yet fully clear what caused the blast that shook the neighbourhood at 8.30 pm. Residents described hearing a loud boom that blew out windows and collapsed ceilings. Brandmeister Rauffenburg of Hauptfeuerwache Döbling, said in a statement, that the damage indeed resembled that of a massive gas explosion from an entire structure filled with pooled gas from a pipe leak. When such a leak occurred; gas displaced the air, the occupants suffocated; the gas filled the building until it had reached a critical volume whereby even the smallest static spark caused ignition, and the building worked like a bomb… exactly like a bomb. He was quoted as saying that "Gas explosions are nasty… very nasty." Richard Menke put down the newspaper and looked at Stacey.

'Well, it looks like Makebet succeeded. I just hope that he made it out. I need to get over to his place and pull him out of Austria as arranged.'

Stacey nodded.

'Yes, OK. I'll come with you as back-up… just in case.'

The grim tenement building in Liechtensteinstrasse somehow seemed to exude an even more menacing, alarming character in the dull light of the slate-grey, overcast skies as Menke parked up below its brooding façade, and he and Stacey stepped onto the rain-slicked pavement. The building towered above them like a squalid leaden cliff as they reached the ragged corner of the gated archway and entered the gloomy vaulted passage that led into the Erster-Hof… the first courtyard.

The rain-laden clouds and light drizzle gave the whole place the claustrophobic ambiance of a scene taken straight from a Weimar-era-Berlin, Film Noir. The drizzle had filmed the squalid, soiled and chipped cobbles slick with grease that oozed from the rusted-out garbage cans that held mouldering food waste, and God-knows what else; and the shadowy pit of the courtyard was enveloped in an almost palpable miasma of the moist rottenness of the dimly-lit, low-rent buildings, the choked drains and pungent aromas of greasy cooking; cat's piss, cheap coal smoke, and wet ashes.

Cautiously, Menke and Stacey made their way through this crumbling to the Vierter-Hof… the fourth courtyard; avoiding the slimy detritus smearing the cobbles. The drizzle seemed to trap the rank stench so that it hung in the air of the courtyard. When they finally reached Makebet's door on the fourth floor of the fifth tenement block, they found it open. Someone had been in and ransacked the place… not that there was much to ransack amongst the cheap furniture. Menke turned to Stacey.

'I don't like the look of this. Something's wrong. He should have been here.'

Stacey was about to say something, when there was a movement at the door. Menke spun round as she reached for her pistol. An old man peered around the door. His face was battered and bruised. Menke snapped:

'Polizei! Who are you? And what has happened here?'

The old man inched his way into the room. He looked as though he had been badly beaten up… and quite recently. In a halting voice he replied.

'I am Ulrich Klammer. I live two doors along. I heard a noise and came out to see what was going on. Three young men were breaking into Bernie's room. When I challenged them, they set about me yelling that it was none of my business, and where was he? One of them went in and searched the room whilst the other two worked me over to find out if I was lying as to his whereabouts. When they decided that I didn't know; they gave me a good kicking and left.'

Menke listened; his face set in a solemn mask. When the old man had finished; Stacey gently asked him if he could describe the men. She took out a notebook and waited.

The old man said that they were tough-looking men, aged around their mid-twenties. They were wearing black jackets and trousers and all wore high-laced boots, tied with white laces. She wrote down all that he said and closed the notebook; then asked him if he needed any medical attention. The old man's split lips strained into a painful, sardonic smile.

'Thank you, for your concern Fräulein; but being an old Jew on these streets gets you used to this sort of thing. Besides which, these thugs are nowhere as near as bad as their predecessors were, forty years ago. Then; they would have shot me out of hand… or worse.'

Back outside in the car, Menke was silent for a while. His face was serious as he turned to Stacey.

'Well, from what the old man said, it seems that they came looking for him… or something… or both. If he managed to get out he's gone to ground and we won't see him again. I think the best thing to do is to go over to Döbling and see if we can pick up any clues from there.'

Stacey nodded.

'Yes Richard; I agree. Let's hope he got them all.'

The site in Eisenbahnstrasse where the Wiedenbräukeller had once stood was now a disaster area. Most of the building was gone, except for some bits of brick foundation here-and-there. Everything in an eight-metre radius of what used to be the Wiedenbräukeller was blackened and shattered. Smoke lazily rose into the sky where the twisted, half-collapsed remains of the building still smouldered. Splintered beams and rubble strewn across an area of charred earth were all that remained. The two-story, brick-faced buildings on either side were smouldering ruins demolished by the blast. One building's roof was gone, a leaving only a blackened husk. On the other side of the gap, the side of a warehouse was sheared off.

Across the street, garage doors had buckled from the heat. A fire truck was still damping down the ruins, and a crowd of onlookers were rubber-necking the scene from behind a line of barriers set up across the street. A television outside broadcasting team was filming as Menke brought the Mercedes-Benz sports to a halt a little way down the street. Getting out; he, and Stacey approached a fireman who was arranging a hose coupled to a street fire hydrant. Flashing a Polizei badge, Menke asked the fireman if there were any survivors. The man shook his head.

'Not a chance! The explosion got the lot.'

Conspiratorially, he added in a low voice:

'Bunch of Neo-Nazi assholes. It looks as though they had a stash of explosives in there that was set off by the gas explosion. Damn good riddance if you ask me.'

Menke looked at him.

'Yeah, I agree. You're certain no one survived?'

The fireman shook his head.

'Not one…'

He pointed to the boiler-suited and masked men poking about in the rubble.

'The forensic boys are still pulling out bits of barbecued Master race before they even start to think about examining for cause.'

Menke thanked him and walked back to the car with Stacey. As they sat there and surveyed the scene, he spoke.

'Well, it looks as though that's it.'

She glanced at him.

'There's still one of them who knows everything…'

He stared at her.

'Who?'

She turned to him.

Treffen. Remember that your contact, Makebet said that he was out of it for quite a while with a badly bruised liver from where I smacked him with the brass knuckles.'

Menke swore softly to himself…

'Shit! I'd forgotten about him. We'll need to find, and silence him. I'll get the team on it as soon as we get back.

Peter Treffen watched the television report on the morning news in disbelief. The whole Aktionsbüro Babenberg gone; and worse; the entire council of the Wuppertal Kameradschaft Kaltenbrunner. A gas explosion they had said; which had destroyed the Wiedenbräukeller and half of Eisenbahnstrasse as well. How many times had he told them that storing the Aktionsbüro's stock of weapons and explosives in the cellars was stupid? The film crew panned the camera around and Treffen stiffened. There! He recognised those two people standing by the fireman. The Berlin bitch, Steini Brasack, and her pet gorilla… what was his name?... Yes… Heynig... Bruno Heynig; and Heynig was flashing a Polizei ID card at the fireman. So they were undercover cops all the time! The camera panned back. Yes, no mistake… it was them.

Treffen noticed a car parked up a little way down the street. It was the only non-emergency vehicle in the area. It must be theirs. He stared at the TV screen… come on you stupid bastards; pan back around! They were too busy filming the smoking rubble; interspersed with lingering, gratuitous shots of charred bodies… then, slowly; exasperatingly slowly, the camera began panning again. Treffen stared fixedly at the screen. Yes! The car came back into shot. It was a silver, pagoda-top, Mercedes sport. He strained to make out the licence plate. S116.2… Damn! The camera panned on around before he could get the last two numbers. The camera moved back to the main spectacle, and then, the next news item appeared. No matter; it might be enough. It was a Salzburg plate; and Treffen had a contact in the Salzburg Polizei Headquarters. Scribbling the number on a scrap of paper, he painfully pushed himself out of the chair and reached for the telephone.

In the main office of the Salzburg Police the insistent ringing of the telephone distracted Wachtmeister Jürgen Koertig from his writing up of the arrest report. Irritably, he snatched at the handset and snapped,

'Yes?'

Peter Treffen's urgent voice on the other end of the line jerked him back to an official reality.

'We have a problem. You've heard the news? I need some information on a car.'

Koertig glanced around the office. No one was paying any attention to anything other than what they were working on. Reaching for an official report sheet, Koertig spoke quietly.

'Give me the details and I'll see what I can dig up.'

He scribbled rapidly on the form.

'Is that it? It'll take a while. Are you staying there? Good.'

He replaced the telephone handset and stood up. To the officer at the next desk, he said;

'I'm just going down to the records room to check up on something. Hold the fort for five minutes.'

His fellow officer glanced up.

'OK, Jürgen; just don’t be too long. I've got a shit-load of reports to get through.'

Koertig laughed. All right. I owe you a beer tonight.'

An hour later, Treffen's phone rang. It was Koertig.

'The licence plate you gave me is registered to a Salzburg Hire Company. The Mercedes was rented out to an Israeli electronics company… you know what that means?... Mossad!'

Treffen spat out,

'Fucking Yids… I knew it…'

Koertig cut him short.

'For fucks sake, you can't say things like that through our switchboard. Get a grip man. I'll contact Vienna and get them to put a watch on this car. We'll get the bastard. Just lie low for a few days.'

The line went dead.

Menke and Stacey were travelling south through the city. It was late… the hands on the clock in the dash next to the Blaupunkt radio read ten minutes past midnight. The streets were quiet away from the city centre… just a few late travellers and the odd Polizei car rushing past, all flashing blue lights, and sirens. It had been raining intermittently, all day; but now, it was lashing down; drumming on the roof and windshield as the wipers laboured to clear the water. Menke's team had discovered that Peter Treffen's address was in a modern apartment block off Erlaarstrasse in the heavily industrialised area of Liesing on the south western edge of the city. Menke had also received a communication from Tel Aviv authorising him to neutralise Treffen as being the last of the viable threats in the Viennese Kameradschaften to the continued clandestine nature of information regarding Operation Plumbat.

As they turned onto Breitenfurter Strasse in the heavily populated urban area of Meidking; Menke drew his Beretta and handed it to Stacey.

'The silencer is in the glove box; be a honey and fit it for me.'

She opened the glove box and withdrew the slender black tube; deftly screwing it into the threaded muzzle of the Beretta and chambered a round. As she handed the weapon back to him, he said;

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

'Might be a good idea if you fitted yours as well. We really can't guess what we might be walking into. 'She nodded and withdrew the Walther from the shoulder holster. Screwing the silencer into the threaded muzzle of the Walther, she glanced at him. 'Think we're going to have to use these?'

He shrugged.

'I have no idea; but you never can tell with these nuts.'

Another flash of lightning stabbed across the sky, blindingly, as the crack of thunder came almost simultaneously. The storm was right over Vienna, and it was a big one. Rain pelted against the windshield; Menke had to switch the wipers to high speed; and even then, they were struggling. The headlamp beams danced and shimmered from the surface of the rain-slicked asphalt. He eased off the gas; it would be far too easy to aquaplane in these conditions.

The black Audi 100 appeared from nowhere. One moment, the road behind was clear; the next… a flood of blinding light from the Audi's headlamps washed the Mercedes; splintering back from the wet asphalt. Menke cursed under his breath as he flicked the rear view mirror up to avoid the dazzle of the following car's high beam.

'Dammit! Why doesn't the stupid bastard switch to low beam?'

He made a sharp left-hand turn into Gerbergasse; going south-east, and then braked hard to bring the Audi right up behind the Mercedes… and force them to slow. As soon as the nose of the Audi dipped and the blinding headlamp beams dropped, with its tyres squirming and sliding as its driver instinctively slammed on the brakes at the sudden sight of the Mercedes' blazing stop lights; Menke floored the gas pedal; whipping up through the gears as he increased the gap to half a block before crossing a bridge over a disused railway line and swinging sharp right into Josef-Österreicher-Gasse to head back south towards Liesing. The Audi was still following them. He glanced at Stacey.

'Tighten your seat belt. These guys mean business.'

The tyres of the Mercedes hissed on the wet asphalt as Menke accelerated down the straight road. A hundred metres behind, the pursuing car's headlamps glared around the corner. Menke threw the Mercedes into a series of dives through back-streets that obviously pissed their pursuers off quite considerably, because they really speeded up. The Mercedes had the suspension and grip for this sort of thing; but the Audi?... it was, after all, a family sedan. OK; the Polizei used them; but the Polizei Audi 100 and this one tailing them were two entirely different animals.

The Audi couldn't corner as well as the Mercedes, and these streets were narrow; giving Menke a major advantage. Being in front gave him the choice of path and timing; he could take whatever direction he chose; but, they had to try to second-guess his moves before he made them, if they wanted to maintain contact with the flying Mercedes. There was no way they could do this, because Menke didn't know himself until literally, the last second. The Audi driver was good; he made up quite a lot of distance on the straight sections, but he was driving way beyond the Audi's capabilities.

On one particularly sharp turn, which made even Menke wind on a great handful of opposite lock as the tail of the Mercedes whipped out; the Audi driver lost it completely, and hit something in a slide; but before the sound of the crash echoing between the walls of the narrow street had died; they were coming on again… one headlamp out, but undeterred. They were gaining again as Menke slewed the Mercedes into Reklewskigasse; then suddenly, the glare of the headlamps vanished. Even above the boom of the Mercedes' engine they heard the crash. Menke braked and spun the steering wheel onto full lock as he executed a handbrake turn and slid to a standstill against the kerb. The Audi had hit a warehouse wall as it failed to take the corner, and had bounced back across the street, ploughing into a parked-up Volkswagen Beetle; burying its nose into the side of the little car, and carrying it about three metres along the pavement into the high brick wall opposite the Mercedes. Menke's Beretta was out and in his hand, as the driver's door of the Audi opened… and a man staggered out. He was grasping something black. Menke's reaction was instantaneous. He yelled to Stacey;

'Get down!'

And leapt out of the Mercedes, as blueish-yellow flames gouted from what he could now see was a submachine gun. She'd be safe in the car; the engine block would protect her. The man's first burst was high… too high. Menke crouched behind the open door as the bullets whined over his head. This guy was too hot-headed; he was wasting shells, hosing the street like that. Menke took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The Beretta coughed twice and the gunman was thrown against the side of the Audi as his weapon clattered to the ground. Menke stayed under cover. The gunman's buddy was out and sheltering behind the stoved-in Volkswagen. Menke waited. He smelled Stacey's perfume. She had crawled out of the Mercedes and was crouching beside him. She gave him a tight smile.

'Why the hell should you have all the fun?'

She grasped her Walther in the stable, two-handed grip and zeroed in on the Audi guy. Menke took his eyes off the target for a moment to glance at her… the same moment that her Walther coughed twice; spinning the Audi guy back against the wall as both her jacketed hollow-cavity Kurz rounds smashed into his chest. Silence… no sound except the quiet purr of the Mercedes engine ticking over. Cautiously, they crossed the street. The Audi driver was dead. His weapon; a mean-ass, Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun lay on the soaking asphalt. Menke kicked it farther out into the street.

On the other side of the crashed Audi lay the second man. Stacey's slugs had ripped his chest open, but he was still alive… just. Menke checked for weapons… nothing close enough for the man to reach. A "broomstick grip" Mauser Bolo semi-automatic pistol with a high capacity, long magazine lay on the wet pavement. Thank God he hadn't had a chance to use it… long barrel, high-velocity cartridge; superior range and better penetration than most other pistols; it would easily have punched straight through the metal of the Mercedes. Menke bent over him.

'Who are you? Who sent you?... and why?'

The man gave a grating laugh through bloodstained teeth.

'Wouldn’t you just love to know?... Judenscheisse! You're walking dead; both you, and your fucking slut. You'll never get out of Vienna alive.'

Even though he was close to death, the hate in his eyes and voice was palpable. His body was suddenly wracked with a coughing spasm; blood welled from his mouth, and he went limp. Menke glanced at Stacey.

'Well. Now we know. Those Nazi bastards have put a contract out on us. Somebody's talked. OK. We finish the job with Treffen, and then, we get the hell out of here.'

As he spoke, the sound of sirens approaching echoed through the industrial sprawl. Quickly collecting their spent shell casings to complicate the forensic examination of the scene by the approaching Polizei; they hurried back to the Mercedes which was sitting there rumbling quietly through its exhaust, climbed in, and sped away towards the glow of the lights of Liesing reflecting down from the rain clouds.

The rain was still falling heavily on the dark, deserted streets of Liesing as Menke brought the Mercedes to a halt in a short dead-end street off Erlaarstrasse, which was flanked on both sides by industrial buildings. The shadows were deep in here; blackened by the rain in this man-made valley of towering brick walls; and there was only one street lamp on the corner. According to the street map; Treffen's apartment block was just a few minutes' walk away. Getting out of the car, he opened an umbrella that he had taken from behind the seats and walked around to the passenger door for Stacey to step out onto the slick pavement. Ducking under the shelter of the umbrella, she nestled close to him as he put his arm around her shoulders. Anyone who happened to see them would think that they were just a couple on their way home.

The rain drummed relentlessly against the umbrella, slipping along the canopy fabric and cascading off the edges as he pressed her tighter against him. The sound of the heavy rain hissing against the pavement echoed around the dimly lit street as they hurried towards the corner street lamp. Treffen's apartment block was twenty-or-so metres along the adjoining street.

The sheeting rain formed iridescent halos of light around the sporadic street lamps as they approached the hulking, greyish blur of the building, still huddled closely together to keep up the subterfuge of the homeward-bound couple, and reached the steps to the rundown apartment block. Stepping inside the building, Menke closed the umbrella and shook the rainwater from it, pushing the inner door open halfway, and sweeping his gaze over the deserted hallway. There was no sign of any night porter or concierge. The building was dark and silent.

Carefully propping the closed umbrella against the wall of the hallway, he drew his Beretta and chambered a round. Stacey followed suit with her Walther as Menke silently raised three fingers, indicating that their target was on the third floor of the building.

They reached the third floor of the building without disturbance. Menke pointed to a door marked "Six." There was no light coming from under the door and everything was as quiet as the grave. He reached up and felt along the top of the door frame. His fingers touched something... a spare key. People were predictable... even fanatical bastards like Treffen.

Silently, Menke slipped the key into the cylinder lock and turned it. With his Beretta poised, he quietly pushed open the door whilst Stacey covered him. The lights were off. Menke felt the wall for the light switch and turned them on. The room was empty, cramped, and full of scattered articles of clothing... as though Treffen had been packing in a hurry. Whilst Stacey covered the door, Menke began searching the room. He began opening the drawers of a cheap pine dresser. He found a small notebook and began to thumb through the pages; looking for something... anything that might give a lead to Treffen's whereabouts. It contained a list of names, addresses, and telephone numbers. He slipped the notebook into his pocket and continued his search. The trash can contained several cigarette butts... German "Astor" brand; together with a couple of crumpled pieces of paper. Smoothing them out; He examined them and found them to be scribbled timetables for trains from Liesinger Platz Bahnhof. They came from a pad of paper that was down to its last six sheets, and had been tossed on the dresser beside the bed. The top sheet bore an imprint of what had been written on the preceding sheet of the pad. The indentations didn't appear to match the two crumpled sheets. Menke carefully shaded over the faint impressions with a pencil that had been lying on the dresser. The words slowly appeared. Two names... "Bruno Heynig," and "Steini Brasack"; their car licence plate number; and two more words: "Polizei"; and "Judenscheisse."

Menke swore softly to himself. Dammit to Hell! Treffen had managed to pass this information on; but to whom? He pulled the remaining drawers open. They were all empty. He moved to the closet. It contained three shirts on two hangers and two pairs of denim jeans on one hanger. He felt around on the shelf above the closet and pulled down a small metal cashbox. It was locked. Menke produced his lock pick set from a pocket and went to work. The lock succumbed within five minutes. The cashbox contained a few photographs and a couple of forged identity cards. He closed the box, and put it back on the shelf. Walking to the little stove, he put his hand on the side of the kettle. It was still warm. Treffen wasn't long gone. They might just get lucky and intercept him at the Liesinger Platz Bahnhof. He looked around again. There was nothing else. He glanced at Stacey.

'OK, that's it. He's gone; but he's blown the whistle on us to someone. That means the Merc' is finished with. We'll leave it where it's parked and I'll arrange for different transport.'

He nodded to her, and she slipped out onto the landing with her Walther pointing towards the floor in the stable, two-handed grip. Menke slipped out behind her as she waited at the top of the stairs; having left the room the way he'd found it, lights off, door locked, spare key on the top edge of the door frame. He nodded to Stacey again, and took the lead as they quietly descended the stairs to the hallway.

Pausing at the main entrance, he picked up the handset of the public telephone in the hallway, and listened for the dialling tone. Yes. It was connected. He slipped a selection of Austrian Schillings and Groschens into the slot and dialled a number. Whilst he waited for the connection, Stacey watched the stairs. He spoke quickly… the code she'd heard him use at Makebet's tenement room... 'Nephilim Rising;'... then, their location; and the terse "Immediate extraction." He put the phone down and turned to her.

'Now, we wait... but not here. There is a place just down the street that is one of our pick-up points.

He picked up the umbrella that he had rested against the wall.

'OK, let's go.'

The rain had eased a little as they came out of the building. It was now a fine mist swirling about them as they hurried down the glistening rain-swept street huddling together under the anonymity of the umbrella. The streets were abandoned and utterly silent; save for an occasional car that swished past; spraying up rainwater that pooled the glittering asphalt swamped by standing water from where the gutters had overflowed; subjugated by the sheer volume of rainfall.

Ten minutes later, an anonymous black Opel Commodore pulled up outside the little all-night café that Menke had identified as the clandestine pick-up point. Nodding to the proprietor... who was probably undercover Mossad; he, and Stacey hurried out into the rain and got into the rear seat. The car was being driven by a girl, whom Stacey thought was about the same age as her. As soon as the rear doors were closed, the girl slipped the gearshift into first gear and swept away from the pavement. As she turned into Kugelmanngasse, she switched on the alarm siren, wound down the driver's window and slapped a magnetic blue Polizei beacon on the car's roof. She wound up the window and flicked a switch and the beacon began sweeping its icy blue glare around the empty streets refracting back from the curtain of rain.

She drove fast across Liesinger; skilfully catching the tails of the amber traffic signals with the blue light flickering eerily on the rain-soaked buildings as she headed west towards the Liesinger Platz Bahnhof. Menke leaned forward and asked for an update. Without taking her eyes from the glistening rain-slicked streets, the girl replied that a watch team had been deployed at the Bahnhof since Menke's call, but, as yet there was no reported sighting of the target. There had been no Main line departures; just a couple of local commuter trains. If Treffen was there; he was keeping his head down. Menke nodded, and turned to Stacey.

'This is "Lailah." She's a Kriminalobermeister at Vienna Central, and she's one of us.'

He turned back to "Lailah."

'Anything about those two stiffs?'

She nodded.

'Yes; the local boys found them and reported in. They've been identified as a couple of hit-men out of Währing. It's being written up as a gang war incident between two rival Kriminellen Vereinigung... criminal organisations.'

As they came into Liesinger Platz, they saw that the place was a kaleidoscope of flashing blue police lights splintering and glinting off the glassy asphalt of the Bahnhof Platz and washing across the drenched buildings surrounding it. The girl slewed the Commodore to a standstill and jumped out. Hurrying across to the nearest cop, she flashed her ID and asked what was happening. The cop replied that there had been a killing and another assault that looked as though it would prove fatal. She nodded and hurried back to the car, telling Menke and Stacey to come with her. At the police line across the Bahnhof entrance she said that they were her colleagues from Vienna Central, who had been sent to assist the investigation. The young policeman let them through and directed them to the south-bound platform, where they found a group of uniformed police and detectives surrounding a body that was sprawled on the platform. The girl flashed her ID and asked the highest ranking officer for an update. He pointed to the body that was lying in a pool of blood.

'Throat cut from behind. No sign of robbery; just a straightforward homicide.'

She snorted.

'There's no such thing as a straightforward homicide. Any witnesses? Any suspects?'

The man shook his head. He was about fifty; an overweight, pompous desk pusher by the look of him.

'No; and the other one doesn't look as though he's long for this world, either. No identification on either of them. We figure that it's just a fight that got out of hand.'

The girl gave him a forthright stare.

'So you've basically just been standing around? Have you done a perimeter search? Have you questioned the Bahnhof staff? Have you searched for a weapon?'

His pudgy face coloured.

'We are waiting for the forensic guys and the ambulance for the other victim; so don't come down here from Central, throwing your weight around. I was policing these streets when you were still in diapers... and who the hell are you anyway?'

She smiled. A cold, scrotum-shrinking smile.

'I am Kriminalobermeister Maxine Bergmann. Perhaps you could get on with your job whilst we investigate the other victim? Where is he?'

Peevishly, the tubby officer motioned towards the passenger's waiting room a little way down the platform. As Maxine Bergmann turned, her face was a porcelain mask, unreadable and stone-cold. As they walked towards the waiting room, she glanced at Menke.

'That dead boy was one of our watch team. He'd been on the force six months, and was just nineteen. I can guess what we're about to find here as well. I want this bastard, Richard.'

Menke nodded.

'We'll deal with it Max. If this is down to Treffen, I have my orders in any case. This little Neo-Nazi shit won't die easily, I can promise you that.'

The second victim was lying on one of the benches in the waiting room with a scared looking, young uniformed cop pressing a blood-soaked towel to the man's throat. Menke and Bergmann walked over and looked down at him. She glanced at Menke and nodded. It was the other member of the watch team. She knelt beside him, took his hand, and spoke gently to him.

'Bernhard; can you talk? Who did this to you?'

His voice was weak; the words were slurring. She bent closer; trying not to wince at the horrible sucking, moist sound coming from his gashed throat. His words were almost unintelligible.

'The target… Treffen.'

Suddenly, his grip on her hand tightened, a tremor racked his body, and his eyes went blank as the life faded from him.

The young cop stared at her, frightened, and unsure what to do or say. He bit his lip and said,

'He's gone, Kriminalobermeister.'

She nodded.

'Yes… and now we have work to do.'

The young cop nodded eagerly.

'What do you want me to do, Kriminalobermeister?'

She smiled… a tight, compassionate smile.

'Stay with him until the Ambulance arrives.'

She turned away. Her face was a mask; but the look in her eyes resembled ice on fire. Menke knew that look; he had seen it far too many times amongst the female operatives of his agency when someone they cared about had been killed on assignment. Treffen was a dead man walking. Whether by his hand or the hand of Kriminalobermeister Maxine Bergmann; the end game would have the same outcome. Treffen would now be a hunted man throughout Austria. She spoke brusquely to him.

'Where can I drop you? Your car is finished. I have arranged to have it moved and dumped unlocked in an area where it surely will be stolen within hours, only to resurface somewhere in Eastern Europe as a stripped wreck in a few days.

Menke studied her.

'Very efficient. If you could; I would like you to drop us off near the Israeli Embassy.'

She nodded.

'That will not be a problem I have to pass that way to get back to Central and arrange to have the borders closed. I intend to get this bastard and rip his balls off.'