Victor O'Reilly - Games of The Hangman

"Rudi was fifteen at the time and exceptionally bright. He was also unhappy, frustrated, angry. He wanted to do something, to get revenge, to teach Daddy a lesson. I suppose I felt the same way at the time, though not as strongly. He started to investigate Daddy's life and at the same time to seek out people who were opposed to the system and values Daddy supported.

"Rudi became obsessed. He began to read Daddy's files, and then he grew more daring or reckless and photocopied some of them. I wasn't too keen on that at first, but when I read some of the stuff he found, I began to wonder.

"The companies that Daddy is involved with, either as a director or a legal adviser in most cases, are really big. I mean, put together, they probably employ hundred of thousands of people all over the world, and their combined turnover is in the billions. We found some terrible things."

"Such as?" asked Fitzduane.

"The worst cases involved a company called Vaybon Holdings. Rudi found some confidential minutes in Daddy's own handwriting. I don't remember all the details, but it was a review of their dirty tricks over many years. Many concerned bribery and illegal sales of arms to governments in Africa and the Middle East. Another concerned that tranquilizer they made – VB19 – which was found to have serious genetic side effects. It was withdrawn in the United States and Europe. Under a different name and repackaged, it continued to be sold in the Third World."

"What did Rudi do with the papers he copied?"

"He was going to keep them," said Vreni, "and release them to the press outside Switzerland. That was too much for me. The whole family would have been affected, and Ruid would have gone to prison if he had been discovered as the source. Commercial secrecy is enforceable by law in Switzerland, you know."

Fitzduane nodded.

"It wasn't just me who persuaded Rudi to burn the papers. Mommy also discovered that Rudi had them. She didn't want them released either. She talked to Rudi a lot, and eventually – reluctantly, but mainly to please her – he agreed. Shortly afterward she was killed.

"Rudi was terribly upset. He was quite distraught. He started saying that she had been killed deliberately by Vaybon because she had seen the documents. I don't think he really believed it. It was just an accident, but he was overwrought and wanted to lash out – to blame someone or something. In some strange way I think he also blamed himself."

Fitzduane remembered how Rudi's mother had died. Claire von Graffenlaub had run her Porsche into a truck loaded with spaghetti. It didn't seem the likeliest way to be murdered.

"The things Daddy was involved in, the burning of the papers, Mommy's death, the influence of some of his new friends, all made Rudi more and more extreme. He began to experiment with drugs, not just grass, but with different things like speed and acid. We had moved back to Daddy's, but he was away from home a lot. Rudi stopped arguing with Daddy and seemed to be getting on with him better, but really he was working on some kind of revenge. He wasn't just acting by himself anymore. He was taking advice, responding to some specific influence.

"He made friends with some people who were on the fringes of the AKO – the Anarchistische Kampforganisation. They wanted to destroy the Swiss system, the whole Western capitalist system, through revolution. It was mostly just talk, but some other people in the mainstream of the group had been involved in stealing weapons from the Swiss armories and supplying terrorists. They supplied weapons to order. Machine guns, revolvers, grenades, even panzer mines powerful enough to destroy a tank. They had links with the Baader-Meinhof gang. Carlos, the Basques, many extremist groups. The weapons-stealing group was broken up, and the active members were imprisoned before Rudi came on the scene. Still, there were many sympathizers who got away. Some of them were known to the police and watched."

"So you're saying that Rudi wasn't actively involved," said Fitzduane. "He was more of a terrorist groupie once removed."

Vreni smiled. "That's a funny way of putting it, but I suppose it's about right."

"And where were you in all this?" said Fitzduane.

She looked at him without answering, and then she turned away and stared at the floor, her hands clasped around her knees. "I prefer to be an Aussteiger. I don't want to hurt anyone," she said quietly.

"What's an Aussteiger? "

"What in English you call a dropout," said Vreni. "Actually it's funny. The German word means more like a ‘climb-out.’ Here you can't just drop out like in America. You have to make the effort – to climb."

She yawned. It was past midnight. Her voice was beginning to slur from the combined effects of tiredness and grass. He had many other questions to ask, but most would have to wait until morning. He doubted she would speak so freely in the light of day. Few people did.

He had the sense that what he was hearing was true, but only part of the truth; it was a parallel truth. Something else had been happening at the same time, something that, perhaps, Vreni did not know – or was only partially informed about. He yawned himself. It was pieces, feelings, vibes, guesswork at this stage.

"I'm sleepy," she said. "We can talk some more in the morning."

She uncurled herself from the floor and knelt on her haunches in front of him. Her blouse was unbuttoned, and he could see the swell of her breasts and the tops of her nipples. She brought her face close to his. He could feel her breath, smell her body. She slid an arm around his neck and caressed him. She kissed him on the lips, and her tongue snaked into his mouth for a moment before he pulled back. Her hand flickered across the bulge in his trousers and then withdrew.

"You know, Irishman," she whispered as if to herself, "you know that they're going to kill you, don't you?" Then she vanished through he round hole in the ceiling. In his exhaustion Fitzduane was unsure that he'd heard her correctly.

Small sounds woke him. The room was empty, and the lamp, almost out of oil, sputtered as it quietly died. He saw her legs first, then the V-shaped patch of fawn pubic hair as she slid down from her room onto the warm stone of the choust. The gold bracelet on her left wrist caught the last flickers of light. Then her naked body was shrouded in darkness.

He could hear her moving slowly across the floor toward him. She was sobbing quietly. He could feel the wetness of her cheek against his outstretched hand. Without speaking, he drew her into the bed beside him and held her in his arms. Her tears wet the hair on his chest. He kissed her gently as one would kiss a child, and after a long while she fell asleep.

He remained awake thinking for several hours until the first faint light of dawn eased its way through the curtains. Vreni slept easily, her breathing deep and even. Very slowly he unclasped the bracelet from her wrist, moving it only slightly so he could see what was there. It was hard to discern in the minimal light, but he could see enough. There was no tattoo. Vreni stirred slightly but did not waken.

Across the breakfast table she was silent and subdued. She did not look at him as she made him coffee and placed a bowl of muesli in front of him. To break the silence, he asked her who did the milking. The milk he was pouring was still fresh and steaming.

She looked up at him and laughed a little humorlessly. "Peter arranged it," she said. "We have a neighbor. He lives in the village, but his cow byre is close to ours. We take turns to do the milking."

"You're not completely alone then."

"Willi is good with the cows," she said, "but he's over sixty, set in his ways, and to given much to conversation."