Project Black Hungarian E-Book

Niall MacRoslin

• Herausgeber: CapScovil Verlag
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Seitenzahl: 556

Beschreibung

For Rookies, Spying Is A Dangerous Game The Board for Industrial Research and Development has been shaping major political decisions since 1929. You haven’t heard of them because no-one has. They’re efficient, discreet and professional. Working under the guise of a multi-faceted consultancy firm. But a new threat to their customers means all that could be about to change. A new technology is to be tested in an extensive field trial, the world’s largest electric car expedition WAVE offering the perfect cover for the trial. BIRD has no desire to see it succeed. The implications are too vast. After much deliberation, a decision has been made. The usual countermeasures are taken and a team is dispatched. The mission is to be low-key, no more than a routine training exercise: an opportunity for BIRD to blood the next generation of field operatives. There is, it seems, little that can go wrong. But the new recruits are young and impulsive; quick to act when caution should be the name of the game. One bad decision leads to another, and soon the mission is spiralling out of control. For BIRD has failed to notice one important detail. Suddenly, all eyes are on WAVE. *** Project Black Hungarian (http://blackhungarian.com ) is the first book of its kind: It is the unusual combination of a fictional story and facts and true events which happened during the electric vehicle rallye WAVE 2013, and characters whose role models are dyed-in-the-wool enthusiasts taken from real life that make this novel unique. The adventure lets you share the thrill of young spies who are recruited by a ruthlessly led secret organisation, and manipulated shamelessly. At the same time the story takes you on a virtual trip to fascinating locations and beautiful landscapes that were visited during the rallye. A special delicacy, if you will, is that through the eyes of the spy characters, you can take a clandestine peek at how today’s intelligence agencies like NSA or GCHQ operate while gathering information. Suffice to say, it’s a good thing there are responsible agents working against them. In addition there‘s some interesting facts on electric vehicles. A very special electric car acts as role model for the „object of desire“. It‘s not a new vehicle by Tesla Motors. Nevertheless it is real and, in October 2014, its developers set a new world record for driving purely electric for more than 726km without charging while climbing some 5000 meters in elevation.

Leseprobe

Expert Opinions

A modern, fresh and fast-moving thriller set in the evolving world of electric vehicle technology. Totally (and perhaps disturbingly) believable with twists and turns from beginning to end. Loved it!

Michael E. Parris JP, BSc, CEng, FIMechE, FIET – Head of Secure Car Division, SBD

Electric mobility is as complex as it gets and a closed book to many. The authors have succeeded in portraying the topic in an enjoyable and attractive way not only for enthusiasts but also for everybody new to electric vehicle technology; and in combining it with an ingenious storyline.

Neue Mobilitaet – Magazine of the German Federal association for eMobility (BEM e.V.), New Year’s edition 2015

Electric mobility has started to rock the automotive world. Recently strangers to the industry, companies like Google start to compete with the long-established players. Those are the facts. Project Black Hungarian names them all and uses them to build an intriguing spy novel.

Andreas Burkert – Chief Editor Drive and Style – Active Woman

There is only one recommendation that can be given to all who are interested in electric vehicles and espionage: Read it! Very intriguing!

OEKONEWS.AT – Austria’s daily news on renewable energies and sustainability

It’s a fact that not only techies get their money’s worth with this spy novel. In their first co-project, the authors create a fascinating adventure by shining light on the pros and cons of emobility.

Recommended reading – Ebersberger Zeitung

Niall MacRoslin

AliceN.York

Project

Black Hungarian

Spy Novel

A Capscovil Book | Glonn | Germany

.

English Original eBook Edition

2. Edition

EPUB

Copyright © Capscovil, 2014

ISBN 978-3-942358-44-6

Available as printed edition

ISBN Print 978-3-942358-43-9

Editor: Helen Veitch

Cover design: Capscovil

Cover picture: Gerhard Tikovsky

Book adorner: Louisa Kronthaler

Pictures/sketches: Capscovil

The cover design is after an image taken on the evening of July 7th, 2013 in Zurich. The picture shows a subject of the well-known Swiss light artist Gerry Hofstetter, which was projected onto the Grossmuenster church in Zurich.

Capscovil® is a registered trademark and imprint of Britta Muzyk. All rights reserved.

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THE STORY

The Board for Industrial Research and Development has been shaping major political decisions since 1929. You haven’t heard of them because no-one has. They’re efficient, discreet and professional. Working under the guise of a multi-faceted consultancy firm. But a new threat to their customers means all that could be about to change: A new technology is to be tested in an extensive field trial, the world’s largest electric car expedition WAVE offering the perfect cover for the trial.

BIRD has no desire to see it succeed. The implications are too vast. After much deliberation, a decision has been made. The usual countermeasures are taken and a team is dispatched. The mission is to be low-key, no more than a routine training exercise: an opportunity for BIRD to blood the next generation of field operatives. There is, it seems, little that can go wrong.

But the new recruits are young and impulsive; quick to act when caution should be the name of the game. One bad decision leads to another, and soon the mission is spiralling out of control. For BIRD has failed to notice one important detail.

Suddenly, all eyes are on WAVE.

THE PROJECT

Projekt Black Hungarian is the first book of its kind. It is the unusual combination of a fictional story and facts and true events which happened during the electric vehicle rallye WAVE 2013, and characters whose role models are dyed-in-the-wool enthusiasts taken from real life that make this novel unique.

The adventure lets you share the thrill of young spies who are recruited by a ruthlessly led secret organisation, and manipulated shamelessly. At the same time the story takes you on a virtual trip to fascinating locations and beautiful landscapes that were visited during the rallye.

A special delicacy, if you will, is that through the eyes of the spy characters, you can take a clandestine peek at how today’s intelligence agencies like NSA or GCHQ operate while gathering information. Suffice to say, it’s a good thing there are responsible agents working against them. In addition there‘s some interesting facts on electric vehicles.

A very special electric car acts as role model for the „object of desire“. It‘s not a new vehicle by Tesla Motors. Nevertheless it is real and, in October 2014, its developers set a new world record for driving purely electric for more than 726km without charging while climbing some 5000 meters in elevation.

***

More information on the project is available here:

http://blackhungarian.com

THE CHARACTERS

Christian Adler - CEO of Adler Reilly and BIRD

Dominik Brandt - Director Operations of BIRD

Céline Dufort - Director Finance of BIRD

Walter Mikesch - Director Intelligence of BIRD

William Steinberg - BIRD spy - Operations department

Conrad Jaeger - BIRD spy - Operations department

Nils Karrat - Rookie hired by BIRD

Hendrik Herder - Rookie hired by BIRD

Alain Blanc - Investor

Peter Prohaska - BIRD spy - Intelligence department

Marc Kudling - Ext. consultant for Evs at Adler Reilly

Uwe Macellaio - Ext. consultant for hazardous materials at Adler Reilly

Magali Zampieri - DISECUPRO agent and bodyguard

Martin Tauer - DISECUPRO agent for IT security

Frank Loden - DISECUPRO Chief of Integrity

Arina Rhomberg - Founder and president of DISECUPRO

Tom Schmidt - Entrepreneur and friend of Alain

Andrej Pečjak - Technologist and Managing Director Institut Metron

Jasna Pečjak - General Manager of Institut Metron

Stephan A. Schwarz - Club president of Swiss Tesla Owners Club

Eva Štravs - Director Tourism BLED

Janez Fajfar - Mayor of BLED

Louis Palmer - Tour director of WAVE

Tamara Hillinger - WAVE participant

Manfred Hillinger - WAVE participant/dep.president Tesla Club Austria

Marco Mila - WAVE participant

Simone Barra - WAVE participant

Jochen Breuer - WAVE participant

Andreas Wacker - WAVE participant

Angela Wacker - WAVE participant

Erich Camenisch - WAVE participant

Peter Franke - WAVE participant

Jean-Pierre Pané - WAVE participant

Monika Pané - WAVE participant

Florian Berg - Student, writing a field report about WAVE

Stephan Schwartzkopff - WAVE participant

Olaf Feldmann - WAVE participant

Rafael DeMestre - WAVE participant

Anastassyia Jurina - WAVE participant

Ernst Scheufel - WAVE participant

Hannes Hauer - WAVE participant

Gordon Feet - WAVE participant

Leora Rosner - WAVE participant

Robort Michelsen - WAVE participant

Johann Axmann - WAVE participant

Franz Sattler - WAVE participant

Andre Lugger - WAVE Roadside Assistance

Thomas Rot - WAVE Roadside Assistance

Vivien Renlo - WAVE support team

Jaromir Vegr - WAVE support team

Andreas Ranftl - WAVE support team

PROLOGUE

Dominik

Spring − Vienna

“We need to meet.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“OK, Dominik – but this had better be good.”

It was. Though he doubted Adler would see it that way. Christian Adler, CEO of Adler Reilly, grandson of Tobias Adler: visionary, emigrant, founder. Tobias, who had come into the world with nothing and bequeathed an enduring legacy; Christian whose wealth was so great he had neglected to think of the next-in-line. Strange, Dominik Brandt thought to himself, to see a dynasty coming to an end before your own eyes.

He was sitting in the presidential suite of the five-star Hotel Sacher, one of Vienna’s many gifts to the rich and famous. The Madame Butterfly Suite, as it was also known, was a vast space, comprising not only a generously proportioned bedroom and art-deco bathroom but six other rooms besides. A spectacular view of the city meant it was a far more attractive proposition than a decent-sized family home.

Everything stood ready for the CEO’s arrival. The long conference table was decked out with coffee, fruit, pastries, and sparkling water, almost all of which would go to waste. At the head of the table, where the CEO insisted on being seated even if it was just the two of them, Dominik had laid a small, immaculately presented dossier containing a précis of the director of intelligence’s findings. The DI could not be there in person, but along with the financial and legal directors would be taking part by video-link. There would be no rap on the door: the CEO didn’t knock – especially when he had been dragged out of a meeting at the UN building. What had it been this time? Dominik couldn’t remember. Only that it had been important, and official: Adler Reilly rather than BIRD.

The CEO might not knock – but he would expect to be greeted upon entry. When Dominik heard the footsteps – that measured, rhythmical tread which somehow managed to convey both calm and a hint of menace – he sprang to his feet and moved swiftly towards the door.

“Dominik, your timing is faultless as ever.”

Always that air of sarcasm, of superiority. The pair shook hands in a perfunctory manner. The CEO was a head taller than his number two, but older as well by thirty years, his hair now grey where once it had been dark. Both men were impeccably dressed. Dominik watched as the older man helped himself to a glass of sparkling water. What was the difference between them, he wondered? The tailor-made suits, designer watches, expensive shoes, even the tan: that was all the same. But whereas Adler oozed authority, and was, at this stage of his life, a veritable éminence grise, he – Dominik – still had an air of schoolboy awkwardness. Their ages, yes, that had something to do with it, but did it not, when all was said and done, boil down to the simple fact of their upbringing? The CEO had that confidence, that insouciance which one associated with people from a certain kind of background: an easy, devil-may-care charm that surely came gift-wrapped with an Ivy League education and a lifetime of financial security. Dominik, on the other hand, was neither insouciant nor particularly charming, and any confidence he had gained was the result of sheer hard work. While the CEO exuded power, Dominik could call only on naked ambition. A distasteful quality, perhaps, but one that might yet come in handy if, as now seemed likely, Adler was to leave no heir.

“Shall we begin?”

“It’s all there,” Dominik motioned towards the dossier at the head of the table. As always, he allowed the CEO a few moments to read over the document, taking advantage of the brief lull to freshen up in the guest bathroom. From there, he heard what could only be described as a snort of derision.

“Electric cars?” Adler was shaking his head. He was old enough to remember his grandfather telling him about the first: developed in Britain by one Thomas Parker, the inventor also responsible for electrifying the London underground. “Is this some kind of joke?” he said. There it was – that calm, that hint of menace.

“No joke, sir. Deadly serious.” Dominik had expected precisely this reaction. Hence the presence of the organization’s other big-hitters. At the mere touch of a button, if required.

“You’re telling me that the outcome of this race is somehow important? What’s it called again?” Adler searched inside the document. “WAVE?”

“No, sir, the outcome has no bearing: it’s an expedition, not a race.” There was a note of relish in his voice. “It’s the test we need to keep an eye on. The technology. If our information is correct – and we’ve rarely been wrong before – there is an electric car in the field with a range of one thousandkilometres. Do you know what that means?”

An impassive stare from the CEO.

“It means if it’s successful, there’s going to be a lot less money coming our way from oil.”

No doubt Adler was thinking that they had been right before. In 2008. That was why they had adopted a holding structure; it was probably the reason the company had survived. “Where did you get this information?” the CEO asked.

“There was a text message, in London. From a pre-paid cell phone. We don’t know who sent it,” Dominik said.

“Get me Dufort.”

Of the three that were soon to join by video-link, the financial director was the only one Adler trusted one hundred percent. He had no time for Legal, and viewed Walter Mikesch, the director of intelligence, with a suspicion that bordered on contempt. Probably this was because the latter made his living unlocking people’s deepest, darkest secrets – the irony being that Adler himself had provided the key.

Dominik had often wondered just how far the CEO’s influence must extend for him to avail of nigh-on unlimited access to databases from all over the world. A whole country’s emails, text messages, and phone conversations could be analyzed and divided into the most miniscule categories, streamlined to focus on a single person and their immediate environment. Detailed profiles of an individual’s life, containing information both the private and professional, could be drawn up at the touch of a button.

To the outside world, Christian Adler was the face of the international consultancy firm Adler Reilly, founded at the turn of the nineteenth century in the US. Nevertheless, some years ago, he had distanced himself from the day-to-day running of Adler Reilly in favour of cultivating a complex network of favours and counter-favours, which could be cashed in at any moment, anywhere around the globe. In that sense, he was merely carrying on the work of his grandfather, Tobias, who had established the Board for Industrial Research and Development, or BIRD, in 1929, after unforeseen circumstances had left his consultancy firm on the verge of ruin. BIRD, a top secret organization whose 100 members were hand-picked from Adler Reilly’s own employees, was responsible for ensuring that the consultancy firm retained their dominant position in all market sectors. Though specializing in lobbying, BIRD’s global representatives also dabbled in illegal surveillance, blackmail, espionage and sometimes even murder: whatever it took to keep those in power in check.

In the meantime Dominik had done the necessary, and Céline Dufort appeared before them on one of the conference room’s three projector screens. Another zap on the remote control and she was joined by the remaining two members of the committee. The CEO may not have asked for them specifically – nor, in practice, was there a lot they could do at this stage – but their presence was still a requirement when important decisions were being made.

“Céline, how nice of you to join us. Your radiance is undimmed even by satellite.”

She squirmed.

“Tell me if what Mr Brandt here says is true.”

Céline Dufort, elegant, sophisticated, but old enough to be immune to the questionable charms of her CEO, replied: “Dominik is right as always. Though perhaps he should have mentioned that oil is only part of the story. What do the initials ICE mean to you, Mr Adler?”

A moment’s pause. “Internal combustion engine.”

“Precisely,” she continued. “The automobile industry has invested so much in the internal combustion engine that a change now would spell disaster. Think of all that training gone to waste, not to mention the cost of new research and development. But even that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Walter has more details.”

The CEO turned reluctantly towards his director of intelligence. Dominik was certain that it was Adler’s connections in industry and government that made him believe he had the upper hand on Walter. The DI’s department received an annual budget of tens of millions of dollars, paid on standing order. Aside from Adler, only Céline Dufort knew the precise details of this arrangement.

“Thank you, Céline. The electrification of the car industry would necessitate a whole range of new measures, all of which have serious implications for our business partners. It would mean a new charging infrastructure and back end system, as well as a complete overhaul of the service industry. The automobile industry may be a massive, well-oiled machine but it is not equipped to deal with the requirements that will soon be placed upon it. Take charging stations, for instance.” Walter Mikesch paused. “Drivers expect their navigation systems to tell them not just how to reach their destinations but if they have the range to do so. If the battery is running low, drivers need both the charging stations and the onboard technology to locate them. Then you have the fact that EVs are built differently from their traditional counterparts. They are not nearly as prone to breakdown and require less maintenance. In other words, mass-market adaption would see the service industry suffer hugely: not just the service centres themselves, but all those selling replacement and spare parts, as well as other consumables. To cap it all, there’s a wealth of new jobs to be created, a generation of developers and technologists to be trained, and as Céline has already indicated, a significant group of experienced professionals who will suddenly find themselves on the proverbial scrapheap–”

The DI was cut off mid-flow. “Meaning? In English, this time.” The CEO’s gaze was back on Dufort.

“Meaning that the continuing development of the electric car directly affects our business interests. The core activity of our most significant Western clients stands to be damaged beyond repair. Existing structures and arrangements that were decades in the making could be torn apart in one fell swoop. As for power dynamics, I hardly need say that they’d change overnight. You could wake up tomorrow and find the industry as you know it gone forever. This is real. And the stakes are higher than they’ve ever been before.”

“And what does my – my team of experts – propose?” Not even so much as a glance towards Intelligence or Legal.

That was Dominik’s cue. He was getting frustrated. Hadn’t Adler read the file?

“We are proposing, sir, that the technology cannot be allowed to succeed.”

“You want to send people in?”

Dominik nodded. “There’s still time to get them on the list. We need to make sure this product is binned before it gets anywhere near the market. WAVE is just a test.”

“I thought it was an expedition,” the CEO smiled to himself.

Dominik was unmoved. For all his occasional awkwardness, he was a good actor. Don’t panic, he told himself. He could see that the CEO was reluctant to cede to his wishes. People of his age were often either deeply suspicious of technology or disinclined to take it seriously. With Adler, he suspected the latter. After all, he hadn’t got this far because of technology. But then again, Dominik mused, he hadn’t got this far on merit either.

At last Adler spoke again, his playful side now no longer visible: “OK, but keep it low-key. Probationers only. And one more thing. I don’t want to hear another word about it. Understood?”

With that, he was gone. He hadn’t even waited for Dominik to respond.

Dominik switched off the video link. What to make of it? Hadn’t Adler always said that the Board for Industrial Research and Development took priority? That the consultancy firm was only there for when people started asking questions? To allow BIRD to operate in the first place? What had changed? Dominik was damned if he knew. He cast his eye across the conference table and the expensive pastries that adorned it – he certainly wasn’t going to eat them – before heading towards the window for a final glance at the newly departed CEO. He saw the old man hail down a taxi, and wave it away grumpily as soon as he realized it was an electric, one of around 150 in the Austrian capital: the latest in a series of environmental schemes designed to make the city a pollution-free zone.

The second cab he hailed – God be praised – was a more traditional model.

Dominik Brandt watched as his superior climbed in and sped away into the distance.

CHAPTER 1

Dominik

Spring - Vienna

A day had passed since the meeting of the executive committee – the evening spent working, late – and Dominik was still in Vienna. It wasn’t out of any great affection for the city, which he had always found preening and self-satisfied, too full of people like Adler, but because he had agreed to catch up with an old friend. Normally, of course, such a notion would have been anathema to Dominik.

Indeed, he doubted whether he had ever uttered the phrase “it’d be good to catch up” to a fellow human being. He certainly hadn’t last night, at any rate, when he had called the Thai ambassador to the UN, Chaipura, to arrange the meeting. Meeting? There, you see. He wasn’t even sure if Chaipura could be properly classed as a friend. That said, Dominik did know that it was time for him to start cultivating his own network. If he was serious about taking Adler’s place, he needed powerful connections of his own. In this regard, Chaipura fitted the bill perfectly.

The pair had met at the Grand Palace in Bangkok the previous year during the opening ceremony for one of Dominik’s bridges. “Bridging for a sustainable tomorrow”, a project that aimed to improve road safety and farm-to-market travel links by building bridges in developing countries, had been one of BIRD’s most successful enterprises to date, and not just because it vastly increased the organization’s sphere of influence. It had also done wonders for the public image of Adler Reilly, in whose name the whole thing had been carried out. Moreover, it had been Dominik’s brainchild, and – this was the crucial point, the one that had ultimately secured his promotion to director of operations – funded almost exclusively out of the public purse. A venture that had won people’s hearts, benefitted the global power players, and barely cost a dime. What wasn’t to love? Best of all for Dominik, however, had been the opportunity to shake the hands of countless presidents and prime ministers across Asia, Africa, and the Americas, with the odd king or queen thrown in for good measure.

The ceremony itself had been stunning, a truly regal event graced by His Majesty the King of Thailand, and culminating in a breath-taking fireworks display from across the Chao Phraya River. Chaipura had been one of the many local and international dignitaries present, and after he and Dominik had exchanged the necessary pleasantries, they had been surprised to discover a mutual passion for sailing. Later, Dominik had been ever more surprised to find himself suggesting that the two of them take to the water together when they were next in Europe. What was he doing? Was he really so lonely? Or had he subconsciously sensed an opportunity that he could store away for use at a later date?

Either way, there would be no sailing today in Vienna, despite the blustery spring wind. Only CEOs could play golf and go sailing on Wednesdays, as Adler was only too fond of reminding him. For now Dominik would just have to focus on work.

Despite the lingering presence in his thoughts of the London-bound Adler, there was a noticeable spring in Dominik’s step as he made his way out of the hotel north along Kaertner Strasse and toward the underground at Stefansplatz. No doubt this feeling was triggered by the prospect of seeing Chaipura again: after all, the ceremony in Bangkok had been the scene of his greatest triumph, and that in a three-year period where, the initial months following the project’s inception notwithstanding, he, Dominik, had grown increasingly accustomed to the trappings of success.

The Austrian capital’s U1 line was, he had to admit, less glamorous than the Grand Palace – being with ordinary people is necessarily less glamorous than consorting with kings and queens – but it did nothing to dampen his spirits. As he alighted at Kaisermuehlen, he felt safe in the knowledge that this latest endeavour, a mere question of sabotaging, rather than pioneering, new technology, would run just as smoothly as the last.

All the while, a different feeling altogether was beginning to take root inside him. It was linked, he felt sure, to this sudden sense of infallibility, the knowledge that under his stewardship a potentially tricky global venture had come to be viewed as an unqualified success. Or maybe it was something to do with the imposing silhouette of the Vienna International Centre. Strange, at any rate, that the home of the world’s foremost peace-keeping organization should evoke in him the desire to upset the status quo. Nothing serious. Just a little trick to highlight the inefficacy of the United Nations in-house security system.

The entrance was more akin to airport security control, and, having passed through unscathed, he alighted at visitor registration. There he decided to pay for a guided tour. After his passport had been subjected to further scrutiny, he was handed a visitor ID complete with its own number and barcode, which accorded him access to the main building. But Dominik had no desire to join the chattering mass of tourists waiting on the other side. From experience, he knew that all he had to do to go unnoticed was to act as if he belonged. There were some four thousand civil servants from one hundred different countries working in the vast concrete expanses of UNO city, as the building was colloquially known, and in his suit, shirt, and tie, Dominik could have passed for any one of them.

He made his way purposefully over towards one of the security barriers, scanned his ID and walked straight out into a restricted access café. As expected, no-one paid him the slightest bit of attention; any employees in the vicinity were all too busy dealing with the various requests of the tourist group.

He ordered a cappuccino and waited. The flags of the 144 member states fluttered in the breeze as if to applaud his actions. Dominik felt no guilt. He knew that Adler would have behaved with exactly the same sense of entitlement.

He called Chaipura to let him know where he was. He realized that here on this terrace, it was international, rather than Austrian, law that applied. Chaipura was a small, scholarly man not given to outbursts of emotion or, indeed, words of reproach. However, when he saw Dominik, he looked decidedly flustered. Possibly he was concerned that the latter’s presence would in some way reflect badly upon him. In truth, it had barely been registered.

“Dominik, it’s a bit of a surprise to see you out here.” Rare for him not to initiate proceedings with a more banal greeting. But then the eyes and mouth softened to form a wry smile as he regained his composure and offered a cordial hand. “It’s good to see you. There was something you wanted to discuss? Come on, let’s finish your guided tour.”

They began to make their way to an interpreter’s booth in one of the centre’s fourteen conference rooms. Chaipura had mentioned that there would be more privacy there. As they waited for the elevator that would take them to the sixth floor, however, a thin film of sweat began to form on Dominik’s forehead.

“Dominik, is everything OK?”

But there was no response, the object of Chaipura’s gentle concern having been momentarily transported back to an incident from childhood. Dominik had been an overweight child, not drastically so, but enough to incur the teasing of his fellow classmates. Their jibes had taken on a crueller aspect following an incident on a school trip. Dominik could no longer remember the destination, only that at the train station he had chosen to take the elevator instead of the three flights of steps that led to the station exit. Somehow, he had become stuck there. There had been some sort of power failure and the shaft, unable to convey its only passenger to his destination, had been plunged into total darkness. Perhaps if he had had company, the outcome would have been very different. He would have had someone there to keep his spirits up, to tell him that these things sometimes happened, that there was nothing to be ashamed of. Unfortunately, the absence of such a calm head meant that after a mere half hour of confinement, with only a mounting sense of panic to accompany him, Dominik had lain crumpled on the floor, sobbing helplessly, for once not displaying even the slightest interest in the bag of sweets he knew was still lodged in his satchel. When he was finally found, some four hours later, his face was puffy and his eyes an almost bloody shade of red. Worse still, he had wet himself.

He never quite lived the shame down. The kids said he had taken the elevator because he was lazy – which was true – but somehow a rumour had spread that it was his excess weight which had prevented him from making good his exit before the darkness descended. Total nonsense, obviously, but reality is a slippery notion, and it wasn’t long before he believed that part too. Against the charge that he had been unable to control his bladder, meanwhile, he had no defence. The children had been merciless, taunting him everywhere he went, mentioning it whenever he seemed to be on the verge of making a new friend. It had made the rest of his school life hell. A different person might have got over it, might have been able to save it under the filename “unpleasant childhood memories” and move on; Dominik had let it take over his life. In adulthood, he was ascetic, fastidious, and obsessed with being in control, but for all that, a man who had never quite forgotten the helpless little boy inside.

“Do you mind if we take the stairs?” Dominik said finally.

“No, of course not. I had forgotten how much you like to keep fit.”

Once they had ascended the six flights of stairs, the small talk interspersed at regular intervals with Chaipura’s heavy breathing, Dominik was surprised to discover that the conference room into which they emerged was almost completely brown. Brown floor; brown chairs and desks; brown gallery; brown walls; brown roof panelling. Perhaps monochrome was the secret to securing lasting international peace. The pair made for one of the interpreter’s booths situated in the gallery above the main stage. It was shrouded in darkness. Chaipura didn’t switch on the light.

“Funny, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that we’re engaging in something illegal.”

“In the UN?” Dominik smiled. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“So, what is it I can do for you?”

“A favour. Those two kids who did the security for you at the Grand Palace. Something’s come up. Can you get hold of them for me?”

“I can give you their details, sure. Is it for another event?

“Something like that.”

Chaipura started to reach for his wallet. “I think I might even have it here.” A few moments passed while he sifted through the assortment of business cards that he kept on his person. “Bingo. They come as a team. Good luck finding this one though.” He pointed to one of the names on the card. “He’s more into partying than work. Could be anywhere.”

For the second time during their short exchange, Dominik Brandt smiled, this time to himself. He didn’t think BIRD would have any trouble locating his whereabouts.

After all, for Walter Mikesch’s department, someone like Nils Karrat was only ever a click away.

CHAPTER 2

Nils

Spring – Sylt – Zurich

Sylt was a place of contrasts. Although measuring less than one hundred square kilometres, Germany’s northernmost island had long been established as a major party destination for the country’s rich and famous.

Back in the old days, the Hamburg media had decamped here in droves in the hope of gaining exclusive access to the private lives of the nation’s pop stars, actors, and playboys. Recently, however, interest had shifted from celebrities to the island itself. The western shoreline was gradually being eroded, and it was said that a single stormy weekend could result in the loss of 100,000 cubic metres of sand. The damage, which was a result of global warming, could only be partially offset by a multimillion-dollar effort to curb the erosion by flushing vast quantities of sand onto the Frisian island shore. As if a group of children were desperately heaping dry sand on their castles in the face of the inevitable tide.

For Nils Karrat, all this was of secondary importance. The island’s shrinking coastline was far less diverting than its endless supply of beautiful people. Nils had spent the day admiring them from his position on the beach and, as he made his way towards the Sansibar, his thoughts turned to the evening ahead. A couple of drinks and then on to Kampen? After all, what were holidays for? He had come to Sylt to let his hair down and was prepared to go wherever the night took him. In a place like this, there was always the chance he would meet someone…