and took the elevator that opened inside his
apartment.
There he crossed several thousand square feet of Jatoba hardwood floors, passed ultramodern furnishings, and entered his home
office with its view of the gleaming facade of the Renaissance Hotel on Alameda Santos.
Rafi pressed a button on his desk, and a thin screen rose vertically up through the center. He wondered again at the purpose
of this meeting. Something had gone wrong. But what? He touched the keyboard and pressed his thumb to the ID pad.
Rafi greeted the leader of the Alliance in Portuguese. “Horst, you old bastard. Make this good. You have our undivided attention!”
Chapter 25
IN THE SWISS ALPS, Horst Werner sat in the upholstered chair in his library. Flames leapt in the fireplace and pin lights
illuminated the eight-foot-long scale model of the
Bismarck
he had made himself. There were bookshelves on every wall but no windows, and behind the cherrywood paneling was a three-inch-thick
wall of lead-lined steel.
Horst’s safe room was linked to the world by sophisticated Internet circuitry, giving him the feeling that this chamber was
the very center of the universe.
The dozen members of the Alliance had all signed on to the encrypted network. They all spoke English to greater and lesser
degrees, their live pictures on his screen. After greeting them, Horst moved quickly to the point of the meeting.
“An American friend has sent Jan a film as an amusement. I am very interested in your reaction.”
A white light filled twelve linked computer screens and then clarified as the camera focused on a Jacuzzi-style tub. Inside
the tub was a dark-skinned young girl, nude with long black hair, lying on her stomach in about four inches of water. She
was tied up in the way that Americans quaintly call “hog-tied,” her hands and feet behind her with a rope that also passed
around her throat.
There was a man in the video, his back to the camera, and when he half turned, one of the Alliance members said, “Henri.”
Henri was naked, sitting on the edge of the tub, the clear plastic mask obscuring his features. He spoke to the camera. “You
see there is very little water, but enough. I don’t know which is more lethal for Rosa. Whether she will choke or if she will
drown. Let’s watch and see.”
Henri turned and spoke in Spanish to the sobbing child, then translated for the camera. “I told Rosa to keep her legs pulled
back toward her head. I said if she could do that for another hour, I would let her live. Maybe.”
Horst smiled at Henri’s audacity, the way he stroked the back of the child’s head, soothing her, but she cried out, clearly
a great effort when she was so tired of trying to live.
“Por favor. Déjame marchar. Eres malvado.”
Henri spoke to the camera. “She says to let her go. That I am evil. Well. I love her anyway. Sweet child.”
The girl continued to sob, gasping for air every time her legs relaxed and the rope tightened around her throat. She wailed,
“
Mama.
” Then her head dropped, her final exhalation causing bubbles to break the surface of the water.
Henri touched the side of her neck and shrugged. “It was the ropes,” he said. “Anyway, she committed suicide. A beautiful
tragedy. Just what I promised.”
He was smiling when the video faded to black.
Gina spoke now, indignant. “Horst, this is in violation of his contract, yes?”
“Actually, Henri’s contract only says he cannot take work that would prevent him from fulfilling his obligations to us.”
“So. He is not technically in violation. He is just freelancing.”
Jan’s voice came over the speakers. “Yes. You see how Henri looks for ways to give us the finger? This is unacceptable.”
Raphael broke in. “Okay, he is difficult, but let’s admit, Henri has his genius. We should work with him. Give him a new contract.”
“That says what, for example?”
“Henri has been making short films for us like the
apartment.
There he crossed several thousand square feet of Jatoba hardwood floors, passed ultramodern furnishings, and entered his home
office with its view of the gleaming facade of the Renaissance Hotel on Alameda Santos.
Rafi pressed a button on his desk, and a thin screen rose vertically up through the center. He wondered again at the purpose
of this meeting. Something had gone wrong. But what? He touched the keyboard and pressed his thumb to the ID pad.
Rafi greeted the leader of the Alliance in Portuguese. “Horst, you old bastard. Make this good. You have our undivided attention!”
Chapter 25
IN THE SWISS ALPS, Horst Werner sat in the upholstered chair in his library. Flames leapt in the fireplace and pin lights
illuminated the eight-foot-long scale model of the
Bismarck
he had made himself. There were bookshelves on every wall but no windows, and behind the cherrywood paneling was a three-inch-thick
wall of lead-lined steel.
Horst’s safe room was linked to the world by sophisticated Internet circuitry, giving him the feeling that this chamber was
the very center of the universe.
The dozen members of the Alliance had all signed on to the encrypted network. They all spoke English to greater and lesser
degrees, their live pictures on his screen. After greeting them, Horst moved quickly to the point of the meeting.
“An American friend has sent Jan a film as an amusement. I am very interested in your reaction.”
A white light filled twelve linked computer screens and then clarified as the camera focused on a Jacuzzi-style tub. Inside
the tub was a dark-skinned young girl, nude with long black hair, lying on her stomach in about four inches of water. She
was tied up in the way that Americans quaintly call “hog-tied,” her hands and feet behind her with a rope that also passed
around her throat.
There was a man in the video, his back to the camera, and when he half turned, one of the Alliance members said, “Henri.”
Henri was naked, sitting on the edge of the tub, the clear plastic mask obscuring his features. He spoke to the camera. “You
see there is very little water, but enough. I don’t know which is more lethal for Rosa. Whether she will choke or if she will
drown. Let’s watch and see.”
Henri turned and spoke in Spanish to the sobbing child, then translated for the camera. “I told Rosa to keep her legs pulled
back toward her head. I said if she could do that for another hour, I would let her live. Maybe.”
Horst smiled at Henri’s audacity, the way he stroked the back of the child’s head, soothing her, but she cried out, clearly
a great effort when she was so tired of trying to live.
“Por favor. Déjame marchar. Eres malvado.”
Henri spoke to the camera. “She says to let her go. That I am evil. Well. I love her anyway. Sweet child.”
The girl continued to sob, gasping for air every time her legs relaxed and the rope tightened around her throat. She wailed,
“
Mama.
” Then her head dropped, her final exhalation causing bubbles to break the surface of the water.
Henri touched the side of her neck and shrugged. “It was the ropes,” he said. “Anyway, she committed suicide. A beautiful
tragedy. Just what I promised.”
He was smiling when the video faded to black.
Gina spoke now, indignant. “Horst, this is in violation of his contract, yes?”
“Actually, Henri’s contract only says he cannot take work that would prevent him from fulfilling his obligations to us.”
“So. He is not technically in violation. He is just freelancing.”
Jan’s voice came over the speakers. “Yes. You see how Henri looks for ways to give us the finger? This is unacceptable.”
Raphael broke in. “Okay, he is difficult, but let’s admit, Henri has his genius. We should work with him. Give him a new contract.”
“That says what, for example?”
“Henri has been making short films for us like the
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