Ultimate Power by Arno Joubert Page B

mankind is about to suffer will be like birth pains, starting small, every contraction leading to ever increasing pain, until finally -BOOM-, the grand finale and the resurrection of a new earth, born from the blood of all the human sacrifices that you are prepared to make.  
    As I said, only you are able to stop the massacre.
    Have a good week, Madam President. It sure as hell is going to be interesting, if nothing else.
    It was signed as Cruel One, I. Taste my wrath in All the Nations.
    “What the hell is this?” Bruce asked.
    President Rue quaffed her drink. “At first I thought it was some sick joke.” She sat down, rubbing her arms. “But I’m not sure, anymore. Any idea who this GREEFF could be?”
    Bruce scratched his chin, nodding slowly. “Yes, I’ve dealt with them before.” He gulped down his drink and held up his glass questioningly to the President. She shook her head.
    He sauntered to the drinks cabinet and refilled his glass. “The Green Freedom Fighters are some extremist bunny huggers organization with military ties to the skinheads. They threatened to blow up an oil rig in the South China seas twenty years ago.”
    “What happened?”
    Bruce took a sip of cognac and frowned. “They operated from Stuttgart, militant and well funded.” He paced the room, scratching his chin. “Their leader was a man called Carl Richter. Staunch military type, his mom was a Duchess, father a Commander in the navy.”
    He sat on the edge of the sofa. “He attended Harvard in the sixties and got involved with the Greenpeace student organization, but he felt they weren’t doing enough.”  
    “So he decided to sink an oil rig?”
    “Amongst others. Interpol got involved when they stormed the Bundestag and tried to force them to ban the use of fossil fuels in Germany.”
    President Rue nodded. “I remember, didn’t they murder someone as well?”
    “Chancellor Erhard Kohler, shot in the back when he tried to escape.”
    “What did Interpol do?”
    “We infiltrated the building.”
    “Casualties?”
    “One agent wounded, eighteen GREEFF members killed, twelve wounded.” He stood up and placed the tumbler on the serving tray. “We cleaned up their cell in Stuttgart, many were sentenced to a couple of years in jail, but most of them showed remorse and admitted that they were manipulated against their will to take part in the heist.”
    The President sighed, pushing herself up from the couch. She looked tired. “And they’re back.” She glanced at the door as someone rapped it with a knuckle. “Come in.”
    A tall, slim man walked in. He wore a three-piece suit, a cigarillo clutched between his teeth. He had round glasses, like John Lennon used to wear. He held out his hands to her. “Darling, you coming to bed soon?”
    The President of France smiled, strain coloring her features, and took his hand. “Bruce, this is my husband, James. James, Major Bruce Bryden, Interpol.”
    The man smiled and shook Bruce’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.” He turned to the President, expectantly.
    “I don’t know if you’ve been watching the television?” she asked her husband.
    He sighed. “I guess you have one or two things to finalize, darling.” He strode to the sofa and sat down. “Mind if I finish our game?” he asked, pointing his chin at the scrabble board.
    She waved a hand. “Off course.”
    He nodded, started arranging the scrabble tiles on the board.  
    She gazed at him for a while, her expression softening. “He’s quite jealous, my husband.”  
    James glanced at the President, chuckling.
    “He has clearance?” Bruce asked softly.
    She smiled, strain coloring her features. “Yes.” She turned to Bruce. “Yes. He’s my political adviser. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.”
    “Anything I can do to help?” James asked, frowning over his glasses.  
    The President shook her head. “No, thank you, darling. This is a military matter requiring—“
    The door flew open and