Victor O'Reilly - Games of The Hangman

"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."