Marek and Benoit burst through the door of Carrol’s apartment, both completely frustrated regarding the failure of the operation. The elaborate set up of the explosives, traps and bait all wasted, in Marek’s mind, this was all because Benoit took the lead and based everything on a hunch that he felt. Turning his frustration towards Benoit who had thrown the duffle back full of unused equipment on the floor by the door. Marek, still barking about the stupidity of the intel leading to the failed mission, Benoit looking at the floor, accepting his role in the botched plan.
Both men paced around the living area, still wearing their basic equipment, too frustrated to rip all of their tactical gear off, pistols and body armor clad soldiers, pacing the room as if they were about to form a military incursion into hostile territory.
As Marek continued to vent his frustration and Benoit retorting where possible, Benoit glanced towards the main windows of the apartment as a shadow caught his attention momentarily. Within an instant, the main window of the apartment burst open, glass exploding inward and showering both men. Benoit reacted on instinct, ducking and shielding his eyes from the glass as he watched a dark figure come hurtling through the window, its elongated fingers acting like claws.
Benoit was helpless to stop the figure as it crashed into Marek who had his back to the window, the figure crashing into Marek and sending him flying across the room in the direction of the bedroom door where he slammed into the frame, collapsing on the broken door. Benoit rose to his feet as the figure of Simon Thonradel dashed towards him, his jaw open wider than any possible human man, showing fangs like a wolf and claws like kitchen knives. Benoit glanced towards the duffle bag near the door, the glint of the metal receiver of the rifle becoming him to grab for it.
Noticing the glance, Thonradel dashed at the bag, grabbing it and sending it flying out of the broken window, his growly voice smiling as he whispered “No Toys...”
Benoit drew his Glock 19 from his belt, loaded with a full magazine of silver coated bullets, backing away from Thonradel, his speed almost invisible as he moved around the room. Two shots filled the closed space, Thonradel pausing momentarily as he felt the sting of the two shots slam into his chest.
The shots seemed to snap Marek back to consciousness who raised his head to see Benoit, pistol pointed at the blur of a shape standing in the middle of the room. Finding his feet, Marek was reached for his Glock 17, however remembering that it was still attached to his tactical vest that was stowed in the duffle bag, all he found on himself was his backup pistol, the 45 caliber 1911, silver coated bullets, his combat knife and his pocket sized UV light.
Benoit fired again, throwing himself back in the direction of the kitchen, putting distance between himself and Thonradel, throwing himself over the kitchen island to place a barrier between himself and his attacker. Marek unsteadily rose from his position, drawing his pistol from his belt, his UV light in his other hand, squeezing the trigger and sending a silver coated hollow point sailing past Thonradel’s head, slamming into the wall behind him.
Thonradel seemed unfazed by the bullet, launching himself at lightning speed into the kitchen, sailing over the kitchen island and slicing Benoit across the chest with his razor sharp claws. Rising and falling as he sliced and clawed at Benoit, Thonradel was losing patience as Benoit was able to deflect many of the attacks by pulling drawers and maneuvering his body away from the incoming blows.
Seeing his moment to strike, Benoit watched as Thonradel raised both arms in the air to begin a massive downward bombardment of blows. Ripping his pistol close to his body and driving it towards Thonradel’s chest, Benoit emptied his magazine of silver coated 9mm bullets into Thonradel. The mass of silver bullets ripped into Thonradel, Marek watched as Thonradel’s face changed from anger to extreme rage.
The holes in Thonradel’s chest began to ooze a dark red, thick sludge, looking down at Benoit, his gaze distracted by a second shot from Marek that grazed his shoulder. Thonradel shot a glance at Marek, then to the broken window, then back to Benoit, ready to tear him apart. Benoit threw himself backwards in an attempt to once again put distance between himself and Thonradel in order to gather himself for another strike. Discarding his empty pistol, Benoit grabbed for the knife block, the large cleaver there his intended target. Thonradel pushed forward at Benoit, grabbing his arm before it reached the knife block, pulling it close and biting deep into Benoit’s shoulder, the Frenchman’s scream was muffled by his own clenched teeth.
Marek clicked his UV light on, pointing it at Thonradel as he charged towards the kitchen, vaulting over the counter and slamming his boot into the side on Thonradel’s head to separate his teeth from Benoit’s shoulder. His ankle jarred as it felt as though it had hit a brick wall, a wild swipe from Simon sending Marek off the island and behind the main fight. The UV light in Marek’s hand flashing over Thonradel’s exposed skin, light smoke emanating from his flesh. Letting out a growl as the light touched his skin, Thonradel released Benoit from his grip and turned to Marek who was standing behind him, his light and pistol held in a tactical fashion
Lunging at Marek, he was met with a backhanded blow from Marek who swung his blade with lethal accuracy, slicing clean through Thonradel’s jaw. Recoiling slightly, Thonradel slowly turned back to Marek, his jaw hanging by the left cheek flesh. Thonradel lunged again at the surprised Marek who was shocked at Thonradel’s ability to keep fighting having half his face removed, his K9 teeth plunging into Marek’s forearm that held his pistol.
Benoit took the opportunity to quickly reload his Glock, firing another volley of shots at Thonradel who seemed to ignore the thuds of the 9mm rounds that struck his back.
Raising his free arm, Marek continued to shine the flashlight on Thonradel, the light focussing on his face, Thonradel recoiled with a loud scream as the smoke gave way to embers of fire appearing through his hanging flesh. As Thonradel recoiled, Marek adopted the same tactical grip of holding his flashlight under his pistol. Whatever the UV light was doing, it was working. As Thonradel backed away into the corner of the kitchen, Benoit grabbed within his pockets, pulling his own light from his jacket and joining Marek as they advanced on the recoiling Simon. Both men unleashed volleys of pistol fire as the UV continued to seer and burn the being in front of them. Within moments Simon burst into flames. Benoit looking around him, he dropped his now empty pistol and grabbed the meat cleaver out of the knife block, swinging with all his might, removing Simon’s head from his shoulders through the flames.
*
The sound of sirens echoed through the open window, sharing a glance at each other. Benoit and Marek sprang to life with the last of their strength, Marek grabbing the two men’s bags containing their belongings, Benoit heading straight down the stairs towards where he had parked the car. Pausing for a moment to retrieve the duffle bag that was visible in the hedge at the edge of the building's courtyard, Benoit turned the keys to spark the engine, Marek joining him within moments.
Pulling away from the building, smoke now funneling out from the broken window, the car turning the corner as the blue and red lights of fire engines and police vehicles pulled up to the residence.
Driving straight to where Lynne was residing, the two knocked on the door that was opened within seconds, Lynne’s face was filled with shock at the sight of the two men. Blood running from the wounds on Marek’s arm and Benoit’s shoulder. Lynne’s training took over, fetching the first aid kit. Marek used his experience of battlefield medicine, going to work on Benoit who was cursing profusely in French.
Once satisfied with the dressing on Benoit, Marek took one of the cocktails of blood thinners from the duffle bag, injecting small amounts around the wound site. Finally finished with Benoit Marek slumped back into a chair, his face going a lighter shade of white.
The events of the evening had struck him, bullet wounds with no blood, being thrown across the room, whatever he had just fought with Benoit, it was not human. Benoit could see the shock on Marek’s face, handling the stress of the evening slightly better, he did his best to reassure his compatriot. Lynne picked up the medical supplies, beginning to bandage Marek;s still bleeding arm, questioning the cause of the wounds on both of them. Had they been ambushed by wolves?
Sitting quietly for over an hour, no answers were given to Lynne who grew impatient with the two partially patched up men who occupied the main area of her hotel room.
Once the shock of the evening had passed, Marek turned to Lynee, asking how her CIA team had planned to extract Shevlenko. Knowing that the main threat was now gone, a simple extraction should be easy. Lynne reluctantly explained the secondary plan for the opera extraction, the key being to separate Shevlenko from his FSB entourage. Both Marek and Benoit remembered what Shevlenko had told them, if he was to see them at the opera, the extraction was a go. They needed to formulate a plan, Marek was convinced that his cover identity was blown in terms of fooling the FSB bodyguards of Shevlenko.
Getting into the opera was going to be a simple task, getting out with an aging Shevlenko would be difficult. The closing ceremony of an international conference crawling with security and having the military on standby in case of an emergency, the operation would have to be minimal in noise, action and attention.
Benoit was not convinced of any extraction plan with minimal information, he was convinced that in order for anything to work, contact would have to be made with Shevlenko in some way, phone, face to face or in some kind of ‘old school’ spy method. Marek put forward the plan of a bathroom extraction, being an old man, a bathroom break was not unheard of during an opera.
Marek and Benoit would conduct the extraction, Lynne would be on hand with the car, once the extraction was done, Lynee would be in constant communication for the fastest extraction from front door to car door.
Contact would have to be made with Carpenter, both men hated the thought, he had proven to be completely useless when it came to any form of assistance with any operation. Benoit dialed the number, the only goal being that there was the possibility that a rear door of the opera complex could be left unlocked. Carpenter answered, his voice was agitated, no doubt sick of hearing from the troublesome French/Polish connection running around Vienna.
After a lengthy conversation where Benoit was working his hardest to bypass the many barriers and wills put up by Carpenter in the form of objections, it was agreed that it could be arranged that a single door at the rear of the kitchen could be left unlocked.
It was the only exit point that had fast access for a vehicle, as it was always accessible for food deliveries for the main restaurant and bar that could be found on the ground floor of the complex for food deliveries. When the sun had reached a point in the sky where cafes and shops were opening, Marek was tasked with finding suitable attire for the event scheduled for the evening. Tuxedos seemed to be the desired garb. Returning with what looked like two suit carriers and plenty of coffee and breakfast, Marek returned to Lynne’s room around 10 o’clock in the morning. Lynne was busily checking the progress of Benoit’s wound before checking Marek.
With minimal time to rest, Marek jumped back on his computer working through the information he could find regarding the layout of the facility, credentials required and the fastest entry and exit routes.
A wild idea formed in Benoit’s mind, dropping a burner phone into the pocket of Shevlenko in the foyer of the opera. Alternatively leaving a package at reception, however the risk of it being opened by Popov or one of the FSB in close proximity was going to be high.
Covering the plan as an option Benoit went shopping for phones and a rental car, returning with an ‘up-market’ BMW 3 series to blend in with the convoy of valet vehicles. Marek barely left his computer, hacking into the opera database and generating an invitation for himself and Benoit. Benoit returned to his therapy of weapon cleaning, stripping the Carbine rifles and reassembling them. Eventually picking up his phone, he dialed the number for Carpenter.
His tone on the phone was serious, contradicting Carpenter’s retorts regarding an extraction without a current CIA team in the city. Benoit was not in the mood to tolerate Albert’s jibes. After strategically changing his tone to dictate authority to Albert, the bare minimum was achieved, the rear, exterior door located at the back of the main restaurant would be left unlocked for the extraction of Shevlenko. Albert would also be able to provide a radio linked to the security network and potentially disrupt ommunications between security and FSB at a crucial moment. Explaining he would set things in motion and call back in an hour with confirmation.
Using the time to engage Lynne in conversation, Benoit pushed a line of questioning regarding the arrival of Shevlenko in the United States. Lynne reassuring both men that once on the plane, the US would be made aware of her arrival and that all would go smoothly. Changing the subject, Lynne volunteered to be in the car for the event, able to drive to any access point for the extraction.
Benoit’s phone rang, Albert was asking for an email address to send information through to. Marek handed a scrap of paper to Benoit who read the email address for Carpenter to hear. Sitting behind his computer, Marek opened the email that arrived moments later containing floorplans and seating arrangements of the opera, including the boxes where Shevlenko was marked as sitting, shared with another Russian Diplomat by the name of Pasternak. Other familiar names that appeared on the seating chart, Sergei Rachov would be occupying a private box on the other site of the stage, across from Shevlenko, Simon Thonradel was also occupying a box on the far side of the opera house. Under close inspection, the FSB names of Kaminski and Volkov were not listed.
Reading through the opera itinerary, the performance itself was that of Heinrich Marchner’s Der Vampyr, Marek rolling his eyes at the title, yet also feeling a chill run down his spine. Continuing through the email, the only other Russian names that could be found were located in the main viewing floor.
Before hanging up the phone, Benoit confirmed that a package would be waiting for them at reception, giving a false name to put on the package for collection, Benoit hung up the phone. Both stepping away from the main room, Tuxedo’s in hand, Marek and Benoit got ready for the evening's mission, before dressing in their white shirts, both men sought Lynne’s attention in redressing their wounds with clean bandages and dressings.
Going over the plan, the two men would enter the building while Lynne circled in the vehicle for the duration, the package from the front desk would be collected, and with luck, they would slip out with Shevlenko unnoticed. They all knew it was a tall order, however risks had to be taken, the only troubling thing to them was their physical fitness, both still recovering from their encounter with Simon Thonradel, both men were uneasy about another physical altercation.
*
Lining up with the crowd of non-political attendees, Benoit made his way to the front desk followed closely by Marek, handed a large, padded manila envelope. Inside was a security radio and earpiece, a phone and a small map of the opera with two locations marked. Looking closely at the map, the marked locations were the loading dock at the rear of the building, the second being a side alley on the eastern side of the building through the kitchens. Marek linked the radio into his belt, looping the earpiece into place so that he could hear all chatter on the security frequency.
Benoit opened the phone, inside were no listed numbers of contacts, placing it in his interior jacket pocket, he watched as the crowd dispersed inside the building. Motioning to Marek in the direction of the restaurant and bar, the two made their way towards the area to see the entrance to the kitchens.
As the two made their way to the dining area, Benoit slowed his pace as the familiar site of Shevlenko, Popov, Volkov and Kaminski all came into view, sitting at a table in the bar area. Marek broke away from Benoit, moving to the opposite side of the bar, ordering two strong drinks. Benoit moved closer to Shevlenko, entering his field of view. A brief moment of direct eye contact, the unflinching Shevlenko continued his gaze to his colleagues, making nothing of the exchange. Benoit continued to move through the bar in the direction of the kitchen, approaching the main kitchen door, he was stopped, a single security guard, dressed well, his identifying security band around his arm. Advised that this was a secured area, Benoit glanced at the security cameras on both sides of the access door as it swung open, a waiter emerging with a fresh tray of food.
Joining Marek at the bar, the two shared quietly what they had observed. Cameras covering most angles, the security chatter revealing many of the security guards were rotational, hardly any were stationary.
Giving out a slight scoff as the familiar face of Sergei Rachov entered the bar, Marek could not help but smik at the man, still dressed in his best attire from the 1970’s era. Ignoring them completely, Rachov disappeared into the sea of opera goers. The crowd began to disperse, moving in the direction of the main staircases as the giant clock in the lobby passed 8.45pm, the opera was about to begin. Following the crowd, Marek and Benoit blended well, the motion of the crowd disguising their movements. Standing and waiting on the first tier level, the two watched as Kaminski opened the door for Shevlenko to enter his viewing box, Katarina also entering, leaving Kaminska in the main walkway, guarding the door. Marek moved to take up a position close to the box reserved for Thonradel, Benoit lingered to keep an eye on Kaminska.
The two watched as Shevlenko rose from his seat, leaving the box, followed by Kaminski, Benoit watched as the two men entered the bathroom across the hall from the entrances to the boxes.
Benoit’s phone buzzed inside his inner jacket pocket, reading the text message to Marek who was listening in on his earpiece that was not hooked into the security radio.
“Plan?”
Shevlenko somehow had the number of the phone Carpenter had arranged for them in the lobby, both Benoit and Marek were relieved yet surprised at the usefulness of Alber on short notice. The texts between the two were simple, intermission at 10.30pm was impossible, three FSB handlers would be close to Shevlenko. The time would be 9.55pm, the bathroom outside the box of H14 was the extraction point, the only obstacle, Kaminski who was armed.
*
Marek was the first to enter the bathroom, stopping briefly at a closet labeled “staff”, the cleaning supplies made for an improvised weapon, snapping a mob in half and sliding the wooden pole up his sleeve to the shoulder. Three cubicles on his right hand site against the wall, basins on the left across the polished tiled floor. Straight ahead of him was a series of urinals. Taking up his position in the cubicle closest to the urinals, the plan was simple, Shevlenko would enter a cubicle, Kaminski would use the urinal, Marek would take him out from behind, Benoit would extract Shevlenko from the bathroom, followed by Marek. The door to the bathroom opened, footsteps echoed across the tiles, a cubicle door closed and locked, the second set of footsteps that were audible holding a position near the entry door.
Marek paused, waiting to see if the footsteps would continue into the bathroom. After another few moments, the footsteps did not move. Flushing the toilet, using the sound of the water to cover his voice, Marek whispered through his phone to Benoit to get inside the bathroom and stated that Kaminski was not cooperating with the perfect plan he had in his mind.
Marek walked across the bathroom to the basin, glancing at the door, the hulking figure of Kaminski standing in a steady position behind the main entry door. Marek turned the tap on, the running water partially concealing the instructions he was giving to Benoit to enter the bathroom.
Shaking his hands and using the paper towels, catching the stern look he was receiving from Kaminski in the mirror.
Marek moved towards the exit door when suddenly it burst open, Benoit entering quickly as if his bladder was about to burst. Stunned by the sudden entrance of Benoit, Kaminski took a slight step back, just in time to see the concealed broom handle slide down into Marek’s hand and swing directly at his skull. The blow rocked Kasminski, his hands raising to protect himself, only to feel two strong blows from the knuckles of Benoit rattle his ribcage.
Backed into a corner, Kaminski swung wildly as Marek and Benoit closed on him, His wild swing connecting with Marek’s shoulder, sending a shudder across his chest, feeling the tendon’s stretch at the blow.
Benoit launched a violent attack at Kaminski, two quick jacks at the sternum before connecting with a strong uppercut, connecting with Kaminski’s face, the giant seemed to lose control of his motor functions. His shoulders drooped as his head swung back and cracked the tiles lining the wall.
Slumping to the ground, Kaminski was knocked out, Benoit and Marek wasting no time, Marek relieving Kaminski of his folding knife, radio and Makarov pistol that was holstered under his arm, handing the firearm to Benoit. Benoit dragged the unconscious body into a cubicle as Shevlenko emerged from his designated cubicle. Signaling that speed was important, Marek
pushed forward, followed by Shevlenko and Benoit. Benoit spoke softly into his phone microphone, advising Lynne that the three of them were on their way to the alley kitchen access extraction point, her response was in sync, advising that she would be there on time.
As the three of them made their way through the restaurant, Marek pushed the door open revealing a security guard who immediately stopped them. Marek insisted they move through with the elderly gentleman who was not well. Surprised at the news, the security guard picked up his radio and began to call for assistance, Benoit bumped into Shevlenko at the sudden halt of the convoy they had formed. Marek refused to wait, his palm thrusting into the neck of the security guard before he could finish his second word. The security dropped immediately, his windpipe shocked at his brain blacking out. An alarm sounded in the security radio in Marek’s ear, the security cameras giving away the position of the three men. Benoit pushed past Shevlenko, pushing him past Marek who was checking the downed security guard for any weapons.
A flurry of footsteps echoed across the restaurant as Marek, Shevlenko and Benoit strode through the kitchen towards the rear door. A single security guard screamed at the three of them to stop, his taser pointed at Marek’s back. Benoit turned on his heel, pointing the Makarov pistol at the security guard's face, his eyes piercing the guard who immediately stepped back, holding his hands in the air at the sight of the weapon. Continuing to the exit, the screech of wheels sounded from outside the door.
Lynne immediately shuffled across into the passenger seat, Marek assisting Shevlenko into the back seat and sitting next to him, Benoit hopping into the driver's seat, his foot hitting the floor, sending the vehicle speeding down the alley and away into the calm Vienna evening. As the car pulled into the car park of the accommodation they were staying in, Benoit and Marek decided that the car needed to be disposed of, Benoit agreeing to drive it somewhere discreet and taxi back to the hotel. Lynne and Shevlenko entered first followed closely by Marek as Benoit drove around the corner and out of sight.
Once inside their room, Lynne and Marek both let out brief sighs of relief before Lynned moved to Shevlenko, requesting the information he had promised the CIA for safe passage to the United States.
Pulling a USB from his pocket and handing it to Lynne, Marek interrupted the exchange before being stopped by Shevlenko. His stern voice explaining that the USB was for the deal he had with the CIA, his deal with the two who had extracted him was all together different. Once the USB drive was in the hands of Lynne, Shevlenko ushered her out of the room, telling her to go and eat and not return for at least an hour as more business needed to be discussed in private.
Within half an hour Benoit entered the room, duffle back in hand from everything he had removed from the car, their usual equipment in case an extraction required violence. Marek and Shevlenko were sitting across from each other at the simple metal table near the kitchenette, a third chair sitting next to Marek. Shevlenko began to talk, revealing that the research he had done, the years of hiding, running and handling Kim Filby had resulted in secrets that had been layered with truths. He explained that on Kim Filby’s death bed, he entrusted Shevlenko with part of a key, originally discovered by Filby’s father in 1931. The key was linked to Filby’s father’s research that resembled something to do with Vampires.
He explained the lengths he had gone to in order to conceal the key from all interested parties, the amulet also entrusted to him by Filby kept one of the parties at bay, however now that he was on his way to the protection of the CIA, the secret was now in their hands. Handing Marek a piece of paper with coordinates written on it, he explained that he hid the information relating to the location of the key at the coordinates in 1993, and that they have not been disturbed.Shevlenko wanted whatever was going on with the hunt for the key, the plans being set in motion to stop, he was entrusting two strangers, a Frenchman and a Polish agent with something he had preserved for almost 30 years, he had finished his work. Taking the amulet from his pocket, he handed it to Benoit, although its power was weak, it would provide mild protection from what was hunting them, Benoit thanking Shevlenko and placing it in his pocket. Its rusted metal surface showing years of wear.
After an hour of discussion, delving into the mysteries and old stories of an ex KGB Handler, Marek and Benoit took their leave of Shevlenko as Lynne entered the hotel room.
Shevlenko’s last words to Benoit and Marek was that Thonradel would be missed and other would come hunting for them, the biggest secret they possess being their existence, anything or anyone that threatened that would have to be exterminated. Marek picked up his phone, dialing the number for his CIA contact, Gorman, the time difference not an issue as he knew Gorman’s diet consisted mainly of coffee and pep pills. The conversation was brief, Marek asking if there were any CIA assets in Vienna, and that he was in possession of Shevlenko and the burnt agent, meaning Lynne. Gorman’s interest was peaked at the mention of Shevlenko, advising that assets were scrambling and would be in Vienna within hours. Needing a safe pick up point, Marek advised that the morning was the soonest possible time, at a location that would also be advised that minute. Gorman was ruffled at the process, yet had to agree to the terms.
Renting a separate room within the establishment, Benoit and Marek got what sleep they could before the sun appeared over the city. Marek logged onto his computer, typing the coordinates into the mapping software he had installed. Benoit poured them both a coffee from the hotel bar, handing one cup to Marek along with the amulet, explaining that he would get more use out of it after their Thonradel encounter. Marek brought up the route to the coordinates, a sparse area located outside the main city of Vienna. A small forest some miles from any form of access road, the coordinated were somewhere within the dense trees.
Marek’s phone buzzed to life as the clock struck 9am, Gorman was speaking quickly, demanding to know the location for the pickup of Shevlenko and Fineberg.
Nominating a cafe not far from where they were located and a time of 11am, giving them time to set up at the area first was the safest option. Gorman relaying the address and time to someone near him, Marek knew that he had forgotten to turn the mute button on, a constant issue with the CIA analyst.
*
Benoit sipped his macchiato from inside the cafe, watching intently as Lynne and Shevlenko sat at a small table outside the main entrance. Marek also blending in, standing by a shop window across the street reading the local paper.
The standard, black SUV pulled up quickly, men in coats and sunglasses exiting and takingShevlenko and Lynne quickly into the back seat before driving away.
Benoit made his way to the main door of the cafe, looking directly at Marek, both sharing the look of relief, yet both wondering just how they had gotten mixed up in all of this.
*
Benoit followed the navigational directions on the rental cars dashboard. The destination some miles from Vienna, a small and secluded wood, the location of the coordinates. Both men strode into the forest, Marek carrying a folding shovel that they had picked up at a roadside service station on the outskirts of Vienna, Benoit walking in a more cautious way, as if expecting to be walking into some strange KGB ambush. After 40 or so minutes, Marek's phone indicated they were standing at the exact place they needed to be. A clearing within the forest, the flat ground almost too flat for nature to provide.
Shrugging his shoulders, Marek started digging. Dusk began to take over the sky, both Marek and Benoit had been digging for hours when they heard the clang of their shovel against something metal. Wiping the dirt away, an old, metal strongbox with a broken lock covered in a bunch of wild roses. Prying the box up from its resting place, Benoit pulled open the lid of the box to reveal a small book within, handing it to Marek who watched on intently, the book was an old banking ‘Pass Book’, its holder having access to safety deposit box 1247 in the Beirut branch of the Swiss Kerner’s Bank.
