"Anything can become excusable when seen from the standpoint of the result"
― Yukio Mishima, The Temple of the Golden Pavilion

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

I was just about to cut into the thick kangaroo steak when the alarm went off. Fuck! The advantage of shifts in the emergency response unit is that you get served the best food. The problem is that, half of the time, you never get to eat it! I glanced at my watch - only four hours left of the compulsory week my team had to spend at the sharp end, keeping up to date on counter-terrorism actions in the field. A bit different from our usual foreign threat assessment work.

I gulped a large mouthful of alcohol-free Grand Cru Shiraz, determined not to let this fine wine go to waste, while searching through details on my pad and ignoring the bodies around me as they scrambled out of the canteen. Some kind of nerve gas had been released at the St Louis border checkpoint, just outside Basel. Shit! That area's still cooling off after the dirty bomb there, eight months ago. I cast my eye over a wall screen that had already been updated with this incident by the time that I reached the operations room. Fortress Switzerland! The map of this small country showed its border delineated by colour-coded circles recording terrorist attacks. Nuclear in blue, chemical in green, bio in red. Grey for conventional weapons although, given the latest developments in compact thermo-baric weapons, these were less trivial than they sounded. Orange was new: directed cyber using miniaturised EM-bursters. These had yet to cause any significant problems, but we always respond to them as if they have the potential to do so.

Of course, despite our tight entry regulations, attacks occurred also within this perimeter. These were, by international standards, few and far between - maybe helped by our Draconian anti-terrorist laws. Even incitement to terrorism could lead to the death penalty - or immediate exile together with all immediate family members, which might be worse than a clean execution in many cases. Maybe not enough to stop fanatics, but at least it ensured that we had no concerns about repeat offenders.

Details of the gas attack were now coming in. All eyes were glued to another screen, which showed a video of an old woman pushing a pram at the French side of the kilometre-wide no-man's-land that separated the checkpoints. Our frequency-hopping terahertz scan picked up the package in the baby-buggy and simultaneously triggered its detonator. There were several gasps as the explosion tore apart whatever was in the pram and sent the woman flying backwards in a sheet of flame. No sense even thinking about her, if she survived the blast, the gas would have killed her quickly enough.

The Froggies were already squealing, as usual, their protests scrolling down one display, while another that captured gas monitor records confirmed that most contamination was confined to the French sector. Tough titties: it's their fault for not stopping the incursion at their checkpoint. Of course, they don't have our technology, but that's their problem.

I hurried to join my team in the chopper for the quick jump to Basel. We were nicknamed 'the Foreign Legion' as, although with Swiss roots, we had all worked as mercenaries around the world - but now with Swiss security clearance and associated passports. We were based in Brugg, in the German speaking part of the country, but the working language for the entire counter-terrorist unit was English.

We struggled into slick, active camouflage ABC-suits on board, partnering up to check each other's seals to ensure their nuclear/biological/chemical protection functions. Under other circumstances, the sight of fit bodies in minimal underwear would have been distracting, but now our focus was entirely on safety. Although my main attention was on my partner, Helen, a statuesque, blue-eyed blonde, as team leader I also kept an eye on the others. Slim, Latin Rüdi checking skinny Pirmin, with his shock of red hair, while bronzed, blond Jörg was paired with the compact, raven-haired Rashmi. A good, highly professional team.

We began to relax as the expert-system sitrep built up. Strong south-westerly winds and forecast heavy rain within the next hour or so. Good news for us and the Frogs, but not so good for the Huns, as the cloud of toxin is now dispersing over the southern Black Forest. As a precaution, we were deploying extra monitors and mist-sprayers on our side of the Rhine, but the risk was minimal. The Germans would, however, have their work cut out to limit casualties in their rugged terrain.

As always, our approach was to respond first and sort out the fine details afterwards. Threats were immediately neutralised, as visibly as possible for whatever deterrent value it might have. Thereafter, we went into silent mode, tracing back to find the source of the attackers and their equipment. Then we followed the technique developed to perfection by the Israelis - focused overkill to remove anyone at all remotely responsible. This was never acknowledged, but everyone knew we did it.

Switzerland survived for centuries due to its policy of armed neutrality. Absolutely no offensive capability, but enough defence to ensure that any attempt at invasion wasn't worth the effort. Of course, over the last two centuries, the banks were an even more important reason why nobody attempted to attack the Swiss. Now, unfortunately, the banks were the justification for many of the attacks, being identified as the safe-havens for the wealth of the mega-rich. In many cases antipathy was now further inflamed by the exclusive communities set up in the Alps for their top-level clients.

The bottom line, however, is that money management takes up the slack from the general demise of tourism as an industry in Switzerland, mirroring that of the glaciers. We provide a base for a significant fraction of the very richest tycoons, oligarchs and internet whiz kids who, between them, control 90% of the global economy. This now contributes significantly more to our national budget than pharmaceuticals - our only other major industry.

My musing came to an abrupt end when we dropped heavily onto the helipad behind the heavily reinforced bunker that marked the Swiss side of the border crossing. A four-man squad bailed out and assembled the kit needed to monitor, and if required neutralise, any residual toxin. My team sat on the ground for a further five minutes, engines still running, while the final input from the attack trace-back was integrated.

"We've got them," Jörg announced, with a grin evident despite his face mask, "confidence over 99%."

"How close to the border?" I asked, knowing in advance that the answer was going to be the one I dreaded.

"Hop, skip and a jump; just by Colmar." I found it hard to believe that the young communication engineer had recently served as a Pontifical Swiss Guard: he seemed to relish the hands-on aspects of our work, the bits I really hated.

"OK, pass the coordinates to the cockpit and set up attack mode, I guess we're the ones who get to handle this." The copter slowly lifted, now silent as speed was sacrificed for stealth. The five ducted rotors made the machine resemble a giant version of an early drones - not very elegant but, when combined with active electronic shielding, this black beast is effectively invisible on a dark night.

"Cloud base is just under a thousand meters, so incursion will be no problem," the pilot reported. "With this rain, we'll be on the ground before anyone notices us. What's the attack profile?"

"The terrorist was transported to the border from this building..." Jörg transferred the image to my pad. "There are apparently four families living on the ground floor. Above that there's a children's clinic."

"Fuck!" I cursed aloud. It was so much easier in the old days when the raghead fuckwits based themselves in remote farmhouses, believing this would keep them out of sight. We could then simply go in with guns blazing and eliminate the entire nest. Napalm was then the weapon of choice: suicide bombers may not be deterred by images of their comrades being shot to buggery, but the videos of our victims slowly burning to death certainly had shock value, even if they did lead to widespread international criticism from the goody-goody lobby.

"Okay, we'll hover over the building and abseil into the back alley. There's an empty car park just a few hundred metres away where the chopper can land when we need a pickup. Tool-up guys: Jörg, EM attack on ground and basement levels; Rüdi, shaped charge to go through the back wall from the alleyway; Pirmin, gas and smoke drones. Helen and Rashmi, we'll lead the incursion while the others mop up. Monitoring drones will be handled by the co-pilot."

"Do we have any images yet?" Rashmi asked while she strapped light armour over her ABC suit.

"Only poor satellite stuff so far," Jörg answered just before these appeared on our pads. Profiles of an old two-story building that looked like it may have once been a small hotel were overlain with thermal images. "It looks like only a couple of children in the apartments on the ground floor. About a dozen adults in the basement. I'd guess that's where the explosives and toxins are, but we'll get confirmation from the drones. The integrated map will be on your visor displays."

"And the clinic upstairs?"

"About a dozen kids and three adults, who'd probably be nurses."

"ETA ten minutes," came a disembodied voice from the cockpit as the internal lighting dimmed to a red glow and our visors switched to night-vision. "There's a local curfew after the gas attack, so nobody on the streets apart from a couple of police patrols. Do you want a diversion for them?"

I quickly ran through the continuously expanding database on this terrorist cell. "This bunch seem to pray in a mosque about two kay to the northwest. Put a small yield missile on it."

"Any likely collateral?" Helen asked. I knew that, like me, she was a rather reluctant executioner.

"Maybe a cleric or two, but they're known supporters of female circumcision..."

"Genital mutilation, that is," Rashmi scowled. "Okay, fine with me, blast the fuckers."

There was only the slightest jolt as the missile was fired. "Consider the fuckers blasted," the pilot confirmed. "Drones are also dispatched and you should be getting first images very shortly. Hover in five..."

The lights went out completely, the side door opened and the winch arm deployed. "Right, boys and girls, we're fast-roping just to be on the safe side." I ignored the usual groans. "Okay, not strictly necessary here, but good practice for the times when it is. In order, Jörg, Rüdi, Rashmi, Pirmin and Helen..."

"Just to ensure that you have somebody soft to fall onto..." whispered one of the girls, causing general laughter.

"The two guys who drove the bomber to the checkpoint got back only fifteen minutes ago, so they're all going to be wired at present. There's no room for error, so let's get this done cleanly."

We waited in silence until a small LED over the doorframe glowed green, then rapidly piled out, slipping down to the rain-soaked roadway in seconds. The monitor drone images were now coming in, allowing us to identify our opponents in the basement: from their sizes it looked like eight adults, four children and a baby.

"I thought the children were sleeping in the apartments," Helen whispered in my ear.

"It looks like three small children and another three babies upstairs at ground level, but there are certainly others down in the basement."

"And you're still going with gas?"

"It's the safest option. As soon as Jörg puts the lights out, we need to incapacitate them all ASAP."

"Something that puts an adult down has a good chance of killing a child," she pointed out.

"True, but if there's any way that those fuckers manage to set off the bombs that they've probably got on the premises, all these kids will die anyway - together will all the innocents in the clinic upstairs."

Helen sighed, as I knew she would, and squeezed my arm. Just then my visor flashed to show that the EM-burster had done its job and, almost simultaneously, a hole blew in the wall with a loud bang and a whoosh of air as debris flew inwards.

Before the cloud of dust and smoke could disperse, the gas attack drones flashed into the gap and disappeared into the depths of the building. I followed slowly, with the girls close on my heels.

The thick stone wall that we had blown out gave access to a large kitchen, directly beside a staircase leading to the basement. The charge had done its job to perfection, with rubble scattered throughout the room, but only dust slowly settling onto the stairs. The false-colour, heads-up display made it seem as if the house was brightly lit, but this was a synthesised image from passive IR and microwave sources dropped by the drones - in reality the building was pitch black.

"No signs of movement from the basement," Pirmin reported, "but there are kids scrambling about in a back room. I'd need to blow a door to gas them."

I was already moving down the stairs while I responded. "Just leave it. I can't hear anything, so the room must be reasonably soundproof."

"There's certainly more of a racket from the clinic. The explosion must have woken some kids and the power being out is making things worse," the pilot reported, monitoring the entire building as the copter hovered silently above.

"They've got no communications now, so shouldn't get in the way unless they try to leave. Keep me posted, but position drones in the hallway and at the fire escape ready to knock out anyone who emerges." Fuck, just the kind of complication I don't need!

I peered cautiously into a huge cellar that seemed to correspond to the entire area of the building, broken only by occasional supporting pillars. Originally a garage, by the looks of it. In the far-left corner, a couple of dilapidated sofas and a rocking chair were set round an ancient 2D television screen. Bodies of adults and children were sprawled about, clearly unconscious before they could respond to our intrusion. "All clear here," I reported. "Helen, get me a head count from across there," I waved a finger to indicate her target.

As opposed to the bare concrete walls elsewhere, the right-hand wall was smooth plastic with a heavy sliding door in the middle of it. I tagged it with a laser. "Pirmin, you got this?" What's behind that door?"

"Odd, I don't have any trace of this. The sensors seem to indicate it's a solid wall."

"Fuck, that's not good news!" An understatement if ever there was one. This setup is typically low tech, so there should be nothing that could spoof the kit that we're using.

Rashmi strode past me and switched on a head torch for a closer look. "Looks like a tight seal on the door, so gas wouldn't penetrate it."

"Is it locked?"

"Nope," she slid it open, "but it leads into an airlock. We have light, so there must be independent power within this Faraday cage." She disappeared inside. "The inner door is solid, though. Probably a mechanical interlock. Should I blow it?"

"Given that this is probably where they prepared the nerve gas, maybe that isn't the smartest idea. Let me join you and then we can close the outer door. Helen, I'll probably lose coms when we go in, so you're now leading the team."

"Okay, boss. All the bodies we registered are accounted for here. One old woman and the baby are dead, though, and the other kids seem in bad shape."

"OK, start interrogating the adults. Rüdi and Pirmin, come down and help. We're short of time, so just bind their wrists and knee-cap them before you wake anybody up. Also, put a bullet through the heads of the old woman and baby first: that may help to show we mean business."

"On it." Helen sounded very uncomfortable about torturing our captives, but knew it had to be done.

There was plenty of space for Rashmi and me in the airlock, which I could now see was equipped with a sophisticated decontamination cell. As soon as I sealed the outer door, the inner one silently slid open. Without conscious thought I threw myself to the side, an instant before Rashmi flew backwards in a hail of bullets.

As a conditioned reflex, I blasted a full clip from my machine pistol in the general direction of the attack, while my other hand pulled a grenade from my belt and threw it into the room in a single movement. The sonic blast would burst any unprotected eardrums but, hopefully, avoid damage to any containers of gas.

I quickly slapped in a fresh magazine and fired a couple more shots to ricochet off the ceiling. Reassured by the absence of a response, I followed this with a handful of sticky microcams, which produced a ghostly image of a well-equipped laboratory on one half of my visor. Two figures in sleek, top-end isolation suits clutching assault rifles were sheltering behind a solid-looking laboratory bench to the left of the door, while another stood flat against the wall to my right.

Fuck, playing possum! My banger's achieved nothing, as their suits offer enough protection. On the positive side, though, they don't seem to be aware of the cameras. I ejected the large capacity magazine, replaced it with a smaller one holding armour-piercing ammo and switched my pistol to single shots. I then removed a grenade and changed from the default sonic setting to a high intensity flash. I took a deep breath and then threw the grenade into the lab. Showtime!

My visor flashed black just before the grenade exploded, being coupled to the firing unit. Even if the bad guys have flash-shielded visors, these won't react as quickly as mine. I side-stepped into the laboratory with my pistol in a classic marksman's two-handed grip and shot the figure on my right full in the face, absently noting as I did that the form-fitting suit showed my victim to be a well-built woman. I then twisted round and threw myself onto my stomach, using the images from the cameras to put a shot into the centre of mass of each of the bodies behind the bench.

Even for armour-piercers, a lot of punch was taken out by the heavy wood, so my targets were both alive, but writhing in pain. I cautiously put one more shot into each, before swapping back to my original magazine and wriggling forward on my elbows to carefully peer around the bench. One of the figures was immobile, but the other was screaming in a pool of blood, her cries muffled by her helmet. Another well-endowed woman... I peered through her partner's visor ...and a swarthy, bearded man. Just need to ensure that they don't get up to any mischief. I shot the man point blank in the throat and put bullets through both of the woman's hands.

I checked my monitors - no traces at all of toxin - then rose and hurried back to Rashmi's side. She was still breathing, protected by her body armour, but knocked out by the impacts and bleeding from a wound in her neck. Probably broken ribs, but lucky indeed as her ABC suit's completely shredded. I quickly scanned through the medical kit indicators on my colleague's shoulder and found the required button to inject a potent mixture of stimulants and painkillers. Her eyes immediately opened and she gave a gasp of shock, followed by a sigh as the pain relief kicked in.

"Let's get you out of here," I helped her stagger to her feet and then quickly summarised the situation in the lab. "Anyway, I'll sort things out here. You should be able to open the outer door after I go back in and close up. Get evac organised while you're still mobile: you've got about 30 minutes before that jab wears off and I want you strapped in the chopper by then."

"Okay, boss. Take care of yourself," she gave me a wan smile.

I could hear Rashmi muttering under her breath until the inner door closed and comms were again blocked. Now to torch this place, I looked over the glove boxes and analytical equipment within the lab, although there's something not right about it. This is much more sophisticated than needed just to cook up nerve gas and the associated dispersal system. Even if it was justified, it should have been kept well away from the front lines and certainly not so easily traceable from a failed attack.

Working on autopilot, I set thermite-based demolition charges while struggling to solve the puzzle presented here. Pulling back a curtain on one blank wall revealed another airlock, which led through to a ramp containing a van and a large stockpile of explosives. Without a detonator, these were stable, so could be left as a gift for the local police when they eventually arrived on the scene.

I re-entered the lab and checked a work station that was linked to all the analytical equipment. A crushed memory chip lay on the floor. Doubtless done immediately after our incursion was noted. I picked it up and dropped it in a pocket as a present for our forensics team, before returning to the two bodies behind the lab bench. The woman was unconscious, but woke with a scream after I removed her helmet and administered the interrogation drug. A very brutal combination of stimulants and suggestion enhancers, but with no analgesic properties at all, which'll make the few remaining moments of her life a veritable hell.

"What are you doing here?" I asked in English, repeating the question in French.

Between grunts of pain, I could make out "Fuck off!" in what sounded to be a Scottish accent.

I pulled one of her mangled hands away from her wounded chest and slammed it with the butt of my gun, eliciting another scream of agony. "I can do this all day," I lied, "so why don't you give me something so I can take away your pain?"

"Fuck you and fuck that stupid cunt Achmed! Fuck..." Her eyes rolled upwards and her ragged breathing stopped.

Could probably bring her back with another shot, but doesn't seem worth it. I'm on the clock here. I set the demolition timer for forty seconds and headed for the door. I wonder who the stupid cunt Achmed is.

As I exited the airlock, Helen waved in my direction. "We didn't get much but..."

"Later," I stopped her, "the lab's going up in twenty seconds. Let's clear this place." Five shots confirmed that the interrogation was completed and I led the way out of the building, pausing for a moment when a mild ground tremor indicated that the charges had gone off, and then trotting towards our extraction point.

***

After the copter lifted off, we stripped off our suits and immediately commenced the debriefing before Rashmi's meds wore off. I started by summarising my findings in the lab and noted the contrast between the high-tech facilities there and the low-tech shambles that seemed to characterise the gas attack.

"I think our chats with the other nutters might clarify some of this. It seems like the families here were only cover for what they called the scientists, they were never supposed to be involved in any attacks. But they heard yesterday that Achmed Hassan's three sisters and their families were killed in the retaliation for an attack on a Swiss train, which was organised from a Spanish refugee camp. His mother wanted revenge, so he helped her set up the attack..."

"Ah, so that's the old woman and the stupid cunt Achmed," I smiled as one part of the jigsaw fell into place. "Did you get anything else useful?"

"Not really." Helen glanced for confirmatory nods from Pirmin and Rüdi, "I think Achmed was the only one who had any idea at all about what was going on; the rest were just camouflage. I'm sure that Achmed realised that he had screwed-up as soon as we arrived, but we couldn't break him in the time available. He did make one slip, though, just after we gut-shot him. He was cursing us in Arabic and promising that Allah's retaliation will wipe the nest of infidels in Switzerland from the face of the earth."

"You know, I think we just might have dodged a bullet here," I mused. "We'll have to see what the boffins make of my helmet cam images together with the chip I found. This lab is part of something bigger, I'm sure of it, we just need to find out what."

"The one thing I can't understand," Jörg contributed, "is why this was set up in Colmar, so close to the border."

Helen frowned. "We had no indication if its existence and would still be ignorant if not for stupid Achmed. But this is still a good question, as building a facility like this without ringing alarm bells would be very tricky. So, the location could be chosen to ease access to kit..."

"Or to targets..." I pointed out.

"Or to both," Pirmin added.

"Well, we can set up web searches when we get back to base. You're lead on this Rüdi."

"Jawohl, Herr Gruppenführer," he responded with a smile. "Rashmi usually supports me on this, but she'll be out of action for a bit."

I now noticed that my wounded colleague's eyes had closed and she was snoring softly. "Yes, indeed, we'll need to bring in a reserve. Any ideas?"

"How about Doris from tech support, she's a real hacking wiz?"

"You mean the drop-dead gorgeous Doris?" laughed Helen.

"And? I'm straight gay as well you know," Rüdi fluttered his long eyelashes in her direction.

"Yes, but she's drop-dead in a very androgynous, Annie Lennox sort of a way," I smiled.

"Annie who?" enquired Pirmin.

"Pop star from decades ago," Rüdi answered, "who does indeed somewhat resemble the gorgeous Doris. Very popular with both gay boys and girls."

"Whatever, see if we can bring her into the team until our sleeping beauty here is combat-fit again." Pretty though she is, it's Doris's hacking skills that may be exactly what we need. "I'll talk to the commander and get us removed from any further active response shifts so that we can focus on this."

"Do you really think we should manage this, not pass it upwards?" Helen inquired.

"I'll discuss it with Schmidt, but I have a feeling that we're going to have to run with this one." And also that it's not going to be an easy job!