Background
If John Morgan were a tree, he'd be an oak; others find shelter from his strength. A character firmly rooted, drawing others to his circle of family and friends: under the shadow of the Eden Tree.
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Horst Weitz had a lot riding on a bag of leaves.
Some months before, when Hans Kestelmann, a former lab technician at Leitz Pharmaceuticals, had rung, Horst had expected a sob story. The man had used drugs; while within Horst's circle of friends drugs were acceptable, they were not acceptable at work. He chose to be magnanimous and listen, hoping to use the man for some scheme or other.
"You must be kidding!" Horst had gasped. "OK, email me everything and I'll look at it," he said. Look at it he did, and then he looked for a chink in the Morgan armour.
*
When he had introduced Jason Gould to his granddad at their villa in Berne, Horst knew it would be hard work. 'This Jason is a cold fish and a greedy bugger,' he thought. He'd asked Jason to wait in the vestibule while he talked to his grandfather.
Old Karl Weitz, 84 years old, leaned on his cane. Stroking his grey goatee, he said, "What are you thinking? Magic leaves, gardens of Paradise, cures for all. Sie dumm fuhrt! You stupid head!"
"Pappa, listen. I didn't believe it either," Horst said, "but I checked it out. I even visited the UK."
"So what are you proposing?" Karl said.
"Let's give this Jason a sweetener," Horst argued. "After all, if we can get our hands on this bag of leaves and our guys test it, analyse it and we find it can be manufactured, well, Pappa, we'll die and go to Heaven!"
Karl nodded. "Do it," he said, "put Gould on the payroll, get him to sign a contract, and ask that ex-employee to come and see us."
*
Hans Kestelmann had been interested when he'd heard from a friend about Eitan's inquiries. A small-time pot dealer, Hans spent most of what he earned on his habit. That was his problem. Approaching his mid-30s, he needed a break in life. The story about the old man's diary interested him, and so he'd contacted Eitan and arranged for the spring on John Morgan at the airport. Despite having his hands on the suitcase they lost it after a scuffle and failed.
When old man Weitz outlined what had to be done, just before Christmas, he'd received a brown envelope stuffed with Euros across the executive table.
"And more will follow if you get the box," Horst Weitz had said. "This is Jason," he showed him a photograph, "who is working with us on this as well. And I want you to take Tim from security with you. Go back to Tel Aviv, snatch the old Jew and make some threats. Don't hurt the old guy, we're not criminals. Keep him safe until you have the bag. Oh, and use the kid, Eitan. Offer him money. We need to keep him quiet."
'Don't hurt him? Hans thought later. 'Sod that. He'll see my face. When I have the bag, the Jew will have an accident and the kid too,' Hans had said to himself as he flew back to Israel from Strasbourg with Tim Mann. As the plane soared away from Germany snow was falling outside the airplane window. It was nearly New Year. Together, they plotted how they were going to kidnap Simeon.
