RED HAZE: A Werewolf Story for the 21st Century (8 page)

There was no reply from Oratz and no argument. He trusted his Fuhrer’s sixth sense implicitly.

Otto Von Kurst ceased the tapping of his fingers. “There are exactly fourteen minutes to the second wave of detonations Wilhelm. Clear the line and get on with your orders. There must be no failure, do you understand? Bring the bastard to me, alive if possible. We will need to know what information he has already given to the authorities. I am sure Lana will be delighted to interrogate him.”

The line closed.

Meanwhile, in a black BMW somewhere in the city of Stuttgart, Wilhelm Oratz prepared to make a series of phone calls. The grenadiers in Amsterdam must be readied for recon and combat he thought. As the Fuhrer insisted, there could be no room for failure!

“I …AM A GOD!”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” Ash Piper winced in shock, the pitiful screams of the men in the film footage ringing in his ears, his head tilting slightly, trying to view the horrific scenes as the television camera seemingly fell sideways. It was all so surreal. All so…horrific! The screams ceased. There, again, the shape, coming into view. A wolf, standing on its hind legs, covered in blood. Human blood. Piper shook his head in disbelief as he stared just for a split second at a near naked, human form on the screen, swiftly running out of the camera’s field of view. Gone! “My God” he said quietly, as if trying to conceal his inner most thoughts, “there are more…of my kind!” Jeanette Descard nodded her head in agreement. With his thoughts in turmoil, Piper glanced at Colonel Mann then Commander Hertschell, noticing the anxious looks on their faces.

The Commander spoke, “we had to show you this recorded footage Sergeant. Obviously it was very important to do so.”

Colonel Mann continued, “Ash, the werewolf in the Rostov footage has never been seen again, although several sightings of a human, wolf like creature have been reported over the last few months, in and around St Petersburg. Unfortunately these sightings have coincided with a series of gruesome, revolting murders within the city.” Piper sat and listened, his mind still reeling from the implications of what he had just viewed. “The newspaper reports are blaming the Russian Mafia as the main perpetrators of these crimes. But something isn’t right.”

“I see,” said Piper.

Jeanette Descard spoke, her voice assertive, “tell me Sergeant, what are your thoughts on werewolves?” Her gaze searched Piper’s once again, as if boring into his psyche.

The question caught Piper by surprise, but that was exactly what this beautiful, alluring woman was all about. She liked to test people he thought, always trying to be one step ahead. With his emotions carefully masked Piper replied, “I know supposed sightings of these creatures have taken place throughout human history, but they are delusions, fantasies of the human mind. So, my answer to your question Doctor Descard is…I have never believed in them.”

A curious look overcame Jeanette’s face, “but werewolves do exist Sergeant, don’t they?”

Colonel Mann quickly interrupted the conversation, which had become a little tense. “The fact is Ash, in reality none of us know what has happened to your body. Your DNA and blood cell structure have changed, we all know that! But what of the nature of the beast inside you? What does all this mean?” The Colonel sounded frustrated and concerned.

Jeanette Descard spoke again in her enticing Anglo French accent. “The incident when you were a boy Sergeant, in the Black Forest, with the wolf…?”

“Yes…” Piper was slowly starting to sweat again.

“I have read your personal file regarding this matter with great interest. The autopsy on the wolf revealed no sign of rabies, did it?”

“No!”

“Do you have nightmares about the incident?” Piper didn’t answer; he just stared at her. Jeanette tilted her head to one side, her luscious dark brown hair cascading over her shoulder, “well Sergeant…do you?”

“Yes…sometimes.” Just for a few seconds there was silence.

“Very well then…” Maurice Hertschell pulled back his chair and walked over to Piper. “The same question again Sergeant Piper, and look at me when you answer.” Piper was already gazing fixedly at the Commander in Chief of CEATA. “Are you absolutely certain you can control the beast inside you?”

“I would prefer to call my other half a wolf sir, and yes, I can control it. As I have explained to Colonel Mann, the wolf is a friend, of that I’m certain.”

Nodding his head slowly, Maurice Hertschell turned to Charles Mann and Jeanette Descard. They both nodded acceptance. “As of now Sergeant Piper,” continued the Commander, “you are CEATA’s key field agent. You are a unique weapon in the war against terror. Your military knowledge combined with the wolf inside you makes you quite…lethal. Doctor Descard!”

Commander Hertschell turned to the young woman now opening a tiny plastic bag. She picked up a pair of tweezers and inserted them into it. Piper was intrigued. “Sergeant, this miniature device I am holding is a satellite linked transmitter/ receiver. When you are out in the field we need to keep track of wherever you go. This will help us do that.”

“I see! So I presume your little device, Doctor Descard…” there was now a hint of sarcasm in Piper’s voice, “…will be implanted into me.”

“Correct, under your left armpit to be exact! The transmitter is linked to our series of NATO Three communication satellites. We will programme one to be over you at all times. Believe me Sergeant, from now on, wherever you go, CEATA will follow. We will be monitoring your every movement, twenty-four seven. I trust you will have no problem with that?”

“None at all.”

“Good, now…” Descard’s voice changed, her tone becoming very serious, “…concerning the matter of when you haze!”

“What?” Piper was perplexed, what did she mean he thought…hazed?

“I am sorry,” Jeanette replied, smiling, “I hate the word shapeshift. From now on Sergeant Piper, it has been agreed to refer to your transformation into wolf form as…hazing.”

“Mmm, interesting!” Piper folded his arms and turned to Colonel Mann, who was just about to speak when the internal phone on the Commander’s desk rang again.

“Yes…what! Very well, we are on our way.”

“Trouble?” asked Piper.

“I’m afraid so.” A furrowed look of concern swept over Maurice Hertschell’s face, “the European Muslim Freedom Fighters have struck again.” The atmosphere in the office suddenly became oppressive, “let’s get to the Communication’s Room, quickly!”

6

A PROMISE OF VIOLENCE

“Viewers may find certain scenes in this report, distressing…”

It was the British Broadcasting Company’s 24 Hour News Channel, the reporting team being enveloped in chaos. Turning to face the camera, the lead reporter spoke to the world as panic stricken people ran in all directions, shouting and crying for help.

“In all my years of live reporting this has to be the most brutal devastation I have ever witnessed. The bloodshed and violence are truly shocking...”

Ash Piper instantly recognised the location! The Trafford Centre Shopping Arcade on the outskirts of Manchester, England. “The bastards,” he cursed.

Sitting at his computer console close to Piper, an unkempt, slightly overweight, bespectacled young man turned to Commander Hertschell. “Commander, they haven’t just hit Manchester...”

An accent thought Piper, either American or Canadian.

The young man continued, “…another target in the UK called The Bull Ring Shopping Mall in Birmingham has been hit, along with a funfair in Nice and a sight seeing passenger boat in Rotterdam.” By now several CEATA personnel had left their own monitoring positions and gathered around the large viewing screen in front of their Command team, many shaking their heads in disbelief.

“Nick,” Commander Hertschell turned to the bespectacled man, “find a broadcasting company reporting on the Dutch target.”

“Yes sir!”

Definitely a Canadian accent, thought Piper.

Nick Lucas quickly tapped away at his impressive keyboard, his dextrous, lightning fast fingers hastily correlating information. With his bespectacled eyes now looking directly at the large screen in front of him, he pressed the ‘Return’ button. “Here we go, a local station!”

“Oh my God!” Jeanette Descard quickly turned away, her face awash with revulsion.

It was another sickening scene showing terrible devastation and suffering. Now, in front of the CEATA personnel, a rainbow coloured stream slowly flowed along a river where an explosion had taken place, the stream being fuel from a passenger boat’s engines.  From the right, an Air Ambulance Helicopter flew into the camera’s field of view, hovering close to a Dutch news team reporting from a bridge very near the scene.  Two other helicopters quickly arrived, with Dutch police officers, ambulance teams and fire crews seemingly everywhere. A police motor launch had also raced to the wreckage, only to find severely distressing scenes.

Unbeknown to the viewers, the remains of the body being pulled onto the launch would later be identified as Mrs Claire Mason from Coventry in England. Of Claire’s husband, there was no trace.

To everyone in CEATA’s all-important Communications Room, it seemed there would be no survivors. The bomb had blown the vessel to pieces, the apparent timing of the detonation being perfect, the vessel having been out in the middle of the river, at its deepest point. If they hadn’t been killed instantly, the passengers and crew would have either been burned alive by the flames from the explosion, or left helpless by their wounds, only to have drowned.

Jeanette Descard slowly turned back towards the screen and to her CEATA colleagues. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered, “this is madness!” The Dutch reporter on the bridge spoke in a grim tone, the sounds from the horrifying environment engulfing him and his team as he gave details of a message left by the perpetrators of the dreadful incident. “Death to the Christian peoples of Europe,” he explained, “all will face death from the fires of hell.” The reporter continued, giving a background to the events before the harrowing attack, his hair blowing in the salty breeze, his appearance showing how visibly shocked he was by the scenes around him.

“It’s them all right,” Colonel Mann’s voice was solemn, despairing.

Piper turned to the young man sat at the computer console, his frustration increasing. “Are there any leads? Anything, we must have something?”

“None,” replied Nick, “no one has! It’s crazy, it’s like these guys have just appeared from out of nowhere, and there’s damn all we can do about them.” Nick removed his glasses and wiped a cloth over the lenses. He had become emotional. Now he was embarrassed.

Piper patted him on the shoulder and smiled down at the saddened face.

Feeling a strong need to return the friendly gesture, Nick held out his hand. “You must be the SAS guy. Sorry, it’s not a good time to introduce myself I suppose, but, anyway… I’m Nick Lucas.”

Piper’s gaze became searching. He tilted his head slightly, looking deep into the young man’s eyes. Here was a man he thought, who quite possibly when it came to computers had a very big head, but emotionally, a very big heart. From what Piper could see, he was certainly a sensitive and caring individual. He warmed to Nick immediately and shook hands. It was a pleasant, warm handshake. “Ash Piper, nice to meet you Nick, but tell me, do I detect a Canadian accent?” The question did the trick. It brought a smile to Nick’s saddened face. “Yeah…cool, most people automatically think I’m from the States. Yeah, I’m from Vancouver. It’s good to meet you Ash…you don’t mind if I call you Ash, do you?”

“Not at all.” There’s a sense of mischief in this chap, thought Piper, instinctively knowing Nick was someone he could rely on, and most importantly…trust!

“Nick will be your second pair of eyes and ears Ash,” said Colonel Mann, “our computer genius here, will be programming our satellites to keep track of you. To watch and listen, wherever you go!” The Colonel threw a quick glance at Nick who was now smiling enthusiastically. “Nick is our computer and communications whiz kid!”

“And computer hacker extraordinaire,” replied the Canadian jauntily, his proposed conversation being tersely cut short by Commander Hertschell.

“Right! It’s business again everyone, I want information and I want it fast!” The sorrow and heartache felt by all over the last few minutes quickly receded. Now, there was just a distinct feeling of venomous anger. “Nick…”

“Sir…”

“…get your team together! I want any leads you can get hold of regarding this new terrorist threat, and damned quickly!”

“I understand sir…”

“Contact all our friends worldwide. Interpol, Europol, the SVR and FSB, the CIA, and of course, the Mossad.”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright everyone,” the Commander continued, his tone decidedly unforgiving, “back to your positions. I want a Code One priority alert sent out to all our field agents. By God I want to know who these bastards are! LET’S MOVE!”

Hurriedly, efficiently, the CEATA staff members moved to their stations, bringing about a hive of activity. It was now everyone’s frustration, rather than revulsion, that was their driving force. But at the same time, Ash Piper felt himself becoming more and more restless, and most of all…helpless.

It was quarter past three in the morning and Piper was bored with the view of the whitewashed ceiling. Just a few hours earlier, the tracking device shown to him by Jeanette Descard had been implanted neatly under his left armpit. Now, his head lay on a hard pillow, full of troubled thoughts, the bed in the room at CEATA Headquarters being just as uncomfortable as he had predicted. Sleep, he thought, I need sleep! And so, begrudgingly, he found sleep. A light, drifting void of blackness, surrounded with the screams of dying people and explosions, ripping into flesh and shattering bone. He turned restlessly in his bed, beads of sweat dripping onto his pillow. No, he thought, his mind wide-awake in his dreamscape, these are not the screams of strangers, they, are his screams. Oh God! There…just behind him, the wolf, chasing him, snarling, its teeth gnashing at his legs, ready to bite, to tear. No, no, the thumping sound! The golf club? Yes, the man helping his father, clubbing the wolf, the sound filling his ears. A cacophony of sound! LOUDER AND LOUDER! THUMP, THUMP, THUMP! A voice near him! Calling to him but, it wasn’t his father’s.

“SERGEANT, SERGEANT PIPER!”

More thumping! No, it’s not the golf club, it’s the door. Knocking on the door! With a burst of adrenaline, his body drenched in perspiration, Piper sat bolt upright. “Yes, what is it!”

The door to his room opened and a CEATA security guard stepped in. “Sorry Sergeant, you’re wanted in Commander Hertschell’s office, immediately.”

“Right, I’m on my way!” Leaping out of his bed, Piper dressed quickly into a favourite set of ‘civvies’, including a black tee shirt, denim jeans, denim shirt and a thick, all weather, black leather jacket.  There was no time to freshen up he thought; this was obviously urgent. Just minutes later, Sergeant Ashley Piper, formerly of the British Parachute Regiment and the Special Air Service, knocked on the door of the Commander in Chief of the Central European Anti Terrorism Agency.

“Come!” Commander Hertschell sat at his desk, his face grim, with Charles Mann sat to his right. “Don’t bother taking a seat Sergeant.”

“Sir?” Piper was puzzled, but he knew something important had happened, his sixth sense was telling him, the hairs on the back of his neck quickly becoming rigid.

Once again, the wolf was talking to him.

Maurice Hertschell glanced down at Piper’s confidential CEATA file. He closed it briskly and cast him a hardened gaze, “I see your preferred hand gun of choice is the Heckler and Koch USP45.”

“The SOCOM, that’s correct sir.”

“Very well! We have one waiting for you at the armoury with a quick release shoulder holster and several clips of ammunition. Get over there immediately, Colonel Mann will brief you on the way.”

“Yes sir.”

“Right Ash, let’s go!” Charles Mann rose from his chair and walked vigorously into the main corridor. Piper followed. “I take it there were no ill effects from the implant procedure?”

“No sir, none whatsoever, the device is tucked safely underneath my left arm. I’m fine.”

“Good! We can now track you wherever you go, and right now Red Haze, you’re going to Amsterdam.”

 “Sir, sorry, what did you say?” The two men continued walking, the Colonel slightly in front of Piper.

“You’re going to Amsterdam.”

“No sir, before that, you called me Red Haze?”

“Correct Sergeant, it was Doctor Descard’s idea.” After walking through another set of labyrinthine corridors, a large metal door swung open as they approached CEATA’s main armoury. The Colonel stopped suddenly, nodding his head at the armed, dark blue uniformed security guard now standing in front of them. “Piper, you said to me during your de-briefing, that when you are in wolf form you viewed everything in a haze. A red haze.”

Piper thought back. Yes…yes, he did!

As the security guard tapped in a pre set code in a keypad to the right of the Colonel, another metal door in front of the two men slid open. Hearing gunshots from a nearby indoor firing range, they walked through. As they did so, a man calmly strolled up to the counter they now stood by. He was carrying a holstered handgun and several clips of ammunition. “Pierre…” the Colonel muttered, nodding his head in greeting.

“Colonel. So…this is our new man?”

“Indeed so! Sergeant Piper, meet ex specialist weaponry consultant for the GIGN and GSG9, Pierre Anray, who is now CEATA’s Chief Armourer.”

The slim, fifty two year old, very healthy looking Belgian wore a look of devilment in his eyes as he cast a quick glance at Piper.

“Good to meet you Pierre,” Piper smiled, his hand outstretched.

“You too Sergeant. I am looking forward to working with you, and helping…to keep you alive!” The two shook hands, Piper noticing how tight a grip Anray had. Taking the USP45 and its accessories from the counter, Colonel Mann handed the lethal handgun over to Piper, whose rugged, handsome face now wore a somewhat mischievous grin.

“Piper,” Charles Mann looked sombre, “as we have previously discussed, you are the weapon CEATA have been praying for. A weapon that will put the true meaning of terror, back into the heart of terrorists everywhere.” Piper finished inspecting the USP and placed it neatly into the quick release shoulder holster now strapped under his left arm. After checking his ammunition clips he slipped his black leather jacket back on, the ammo clips being placed neatly into a webbed belt around his waist.  All the time, he was listening intently. “As of now Sergeant Piper, you are CEATA Field Agent 038, with your unique, official codename being…Red Haze.” Piper zipped up his jacket and stared coldly at the Colonel, his blue and amber eyes sending a slight shiver down Charles Mann’s spine. “It’s time to prove yourself Ash,” the Colonel continued, “Nick has just received information that the Dutch police have a Neo Nazi from the Netherlands Far Right Wing Political Party, in their custody. Apparently this thug, for want of a better word, has information pertaining to the recent detonations by the European Muslim Freedom Fighters. The man in question has just been handed over to the Dutch BVD. Upon receiving our forthcoming instructions, the BVD will move him to our CEATA Safehouse in Amsterdam. You are to make your way to the Safehouse and interview him, using this satellite monitored recorder.” The Colonel handed Piper a small, rectangular device. “It’s simple to operate…”

“I know the type…”

“…with this little box of tricks, we can listen in and record everything he says.”