The Stolen (7 page)

‘Why go to all that trouble to hire a professional assassin to kill a gypsy? An itinerant no one – I mean, the guy wasn't even Swiss. Unless he had some vital information, information that could cause a great deal of damage to someone?' Klauser mused to himself.

‘Jesus, Helmut, of all my clients you're the most like a woman: you always talk after sex but never before. I should charge you extra,' Celine grumbled.

Ignoring her, he continued: ‘And why the Holindt store? He couldn't have been thinking seriously of breaking in; he didn't even have a crowbar.'

‘Holindt, the watch company?'

‘Yeah. I have to say it's the first time I've been called to pick up a dead gypsy in the Altestrasse.'

‘I know von Holindt…'

Helmut sat up and stared at her, her dyed blonde hair mussed up around the fine bone structure, broken only by the drama of her over-wide mouth.

‘You know von Holindt?'

‘Sure. He's one of our “party” group. They've been coming here for years. Stopped about eighteen months ago. Always the same three men, and baby, if
you're
a shark in this ocean, these guys are killer whales – nasty role play, torture games really – without the blood.'

‘And you do this?'

‘The money is good.
Very
good. These three, they're real players. I can't tell you who they all are, they're always masked when we girls enter the room. But I do know von Holindt is one, one of the girls recognised his body from an individual client session. Another one has red hair – red pubic hair,' Celine said, interrupting the rather vivid images that were starting to crowd out Klauser's thoughts. ‘But the other, he's the real bully, you get the feeling the girls are playing out scenarios he's lived – and they're not pretty.'

‘Nice guy.'

‘Nice doesn't pay, sweetie. This Johnnie wears a bull's mask, really ornate, covering his whole face. It's like that's part of the turn-on, to be completely enclosed from the neck up. Then I realised it wasn't just his way of
hiding
his identity – it
was
his identity. When he puts that mask on he
becomes
the bull.' Celine wrapped her hand hopefully round his flaccid penis. He removed it.

‘How old?'

‘Mid-sixties, judging by the rest of him and average height, maybe five ten? And I can tell you he's not circumcised, but that's not going to help you, is it?'

Klauser winced. He hated to think of Celine with another man, but this was worse: the idea of her having to service such perversity – he wanted to protect her, ridiculous he knew, but he couldn't help it. Noticing, she leaned over and kissed his nipple, then smiled up at him.

‘He's the real puppet-master, this bull guy. The others are always kow-towing to him.'

Klauser thought about Christoph von Holindt, about his public profile, his well-publicised charity works.

‘Christoph von Holindt, the epitome of the good bürgher… A scandal like that could ruin him.'

‘Which is why it's better that these guys express their dark side in a professional arena. Truly, us girls deserve medals. We're more than just glorified social workers and pleasure workers – we're exorcists.'

At which Klauser began to laugh – until he realised Celine wasn't joking.

 

 

Several waiters circled the chatting journalists and researchers, carrying trays of champagne and canapés. Matthias stood by the huge window looking out over Zürich, a glass in one hand. He'd just finished a short interview for
Der Stern
when the sudden scent of perfume made him swing round.

‘So is the rumour true that you dance about the laboratory naked playing the flute when you're really inspired?' The same female paparazzi journalist pushed another full glass of wine into his hand while relieving him of his empty one.

‘An outrageous claim, but actually true – except for the naked part… ⁠' Again, Matthias found himself stammering slightly. He peered short-sightedly at her nametag. ‘Fraulein… ?'

‘Names are so defining,' she murmured seductively. ‘I know nothing about science, but I love musicians, especially when they're tall and extraordinary-looking.' She smiled carnivorously at him then pulled a business card from her jacket pocket.

‘Here, for when you feel like playing more than just the flute.' She pressed the card into his hand, but by the time he looked up again she was gone, and in her place was the man Jannick had pointed out earlier. At about six foot five he stood over Matthias, a threatening presence despite the grin that now ran over his fleshy lips.

‘Great pitch. You guys really got the goods?' he asked in English, his accent American.

‘The research speaks for itself.' Matthias stepped back; over six foot himself, he wasn't used to this sensation of looking up.

‘I've read it; it looks kosher.' The American swung a huge, bear-like hand towards Matthias. His grip was assured and a little dangerous.

‘Colonel Guy Peterson. I'm here to represent US interests,
official
US interests. Congratulations, Herr Professor, I'm not often impressed.'

Matthias withdrew his hand – the colonel made him feel slightly claustrophobic, as if his sheer mass were squeezing him out of the room. Matthias couldn't help noticing that the people standing closest to them had stepped away, as if Peterson might be known to some of them. He wished they'd vetted the guest list a little more thoroughly.

‘DARPA and I have a history,' he said, not bothering to disguise his tone.

‘Herr Professor, you are being deliberately naive. Both you and I know the immense potential superconductivity at standard room temperature could bring to the military field. Tanks and armed vehicles that don't require refuelling, super-fast weapons, fighter jets, laser guns… Need I go on?'

‘You're wasting your time. DARPA knows I'm opposed to the military application of superconductivity. Perhaps you should have done your own research a little more efficiently?'

Matthias turned and was about to walk away when Peterson grabbed him by the elbow.

‘From what I hear Daddy's closed the bank.' His voice was soft enough for just Matthias to hear. ‘And you and I both know that the use of superconductivity in the military field is inevitable. When it happens, I strongly suggest it would be in your own interests, and in the interests of Switzerland itself, that the application should fall into the hands of the good guys.'

‘The good guys?' Matthias said, shaking his arm free. ‘Surely that's a matter of opinion.'

‘It's a matter of
fact
, Herr Professor.'

Matthias hesitated, just for a second, but it was the opening Peterson was looking for; he leaned forward and now Matthias could smell the expensive aftershave. ‘We are willing to fund the next stage of your research in its entirety, the only proviso being that DARPA would have sole ownership of any patents or superconductors devised within the laboratory for at least ten years.'

It was outrageous, a prison sentence for all innovation Matthias might devise, but it was also a clear indication of how much his work was valued. Suddenly Matthias didn't feel so bad; his personal stock, as well as that of his laboratory, had just shot up. There was a change in the atmosphere around him, as if the people near him sensed serious business was being discussed. Over Peterson's broad shoulder Matthias caught the gaze of Destin Viscon, the businessman he'd met at the door. Within audible distance, he appeared intensely interested in Matthias's conversation. Matthias glanced back at the American.

‘Sorry, not for sale.'

For a moment Peterson looked at him blankly, then his expression transformed into one of quiet fury.

‘You're naive and you will fail,' he hissed, as if damning him, then raised his voice so that it could be heard by others. ‘I'll leave my number with your assistant in case you change your mind.' Without looking back, he pushed his way through the throng and out of the room.

Matthias reached for another glass of champagne. All he really wanted to do at that moment was to get back into the laboratory and dive back into the relatively uncomplicated world of atomic structures and chemical equations. Philosophising was dangerous; he couldn't afford to project, far better to focus on the immediate and immense task just in front of him. He was a scientist, and a man of practical application dedicated to solving an enigma. The aftermath of discovery was not his concern – then superconductivity would belong to the world. He wondered what Marie would have advised. Unlike him she had been a believer in the higher nature of man. A Catholic, his wife had struggled with his atheism and was convinced that Matthias's passion for molecular physics was a spiritual calling. Initially he'd argued with her, and then over the years indulged her to the extent that he'd found himself wondering whether she was right: perhaps it was a spiritual calling. But the sheer pointlessness of her death had shattered all of that.

‘So was the American really DARPA?' Jannick's voice broke into his reverie.

‘CIA, I suspect, here on behalf of DARPA.'

Jannick whistled. ‘So, what did he want?'

‘My soul,' Matthias answered flatly.

‘I hope you sold it and for a good price. They could fund us for decades.'

They were interrupted by a polite cough; the slim, sharp-featured man Matthias had seen earlier stood holding out his hand.

‘Destin Viscon, entrepreneur. We met earlier.' At closer view, the Frenchman was older than Matthias had originally thought, perhaps late thirties. His muscular physique seemed at odds with his face which had a Renaissance beauty about it. But most striking were his eyes: the left was blue while the right was green. It was hard not to stare.

‘You are, of course, Herr Professor Matthias von Holindt and this is Herr Doktor Jannick Lund.' The three men shook hands, Matthias noting that Jannick appeared impressed the man knew his name.

‘International Alliance Industries?' Matthias ventured. ‘I can't say I've heard of you guys.'

‘Discreet, small but not without power. Herr Professor, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with the American giant – I'm obnoxious that way.'

Matthias laughed. ‘You're forgiven.'

‘He was a little overbearing, but you
are
looking for investors, potential partners, right?'

Just then Matthias noticed Bertholt Tannen standing at the back of the hall. The fact that his father's assistant should be here was disturbing; he had no choice but to deal with it immediately. ‘Will you excuse me? Jannick can answer all your questions as well as I can,' he said, before pushing his way through the milling crowd.

‘I'm assuming that man is important,' Destin said, slightly offended.

Jannick shrugged apologetically. ‘Christoph von Holindt's assistant.'

‘So it's true the son has lost the father's backing?' Destin asked, gambling on the resentment he'd sensed from the younger scientist towards his employer.

‘Maybe,' Jannick said. ‘Where did you say your company was based?'

‘I didn't, but my clients are mainly in the Middle East and North Africa. An interesting man, your employer.'

‘A little black and white when it comes to business partners. He doesn't understand the importance of compromise.'

‘Indeed? And it must be constraining having such a strong personality always looking over your shoulder.'

It was rare a potential investor took an assistant's feelings into account. Jannick warmed to the Frenchman.

‘It is, although we conduct our research quite separately. In fact a number of the lab's breakthroughs could be attributed to
my
research.' This was an exaggeration, but Jannick felt he never got the recognition he deserved.

‘So maybe I should go into partnership with you?' the Frenchman joked; Jannick did not smile.

‘Matthias might be a genius physicist, but he's naive economically. An idealist. Science should transcend petty morals, don't you think?'

Now Jannick had Destin's full attention.

‘Absolutely. I do understand how a career like this is often a labour of love, and love doesn't pay the bills, especially when it's accompanied by a lack of recognition. I know how painful that can be.'

Jannick smiled wryly. ‘Indeed. I'd like to think I'd have somewhere to go, to really let my own vision fly – a place where innovation can be transformed into hard product, science into commerce. I am a practical man and Matthias's… sensitivity… is getting in the way of my practicality.' There was no need to be more specific; both men knew the negotiation was on. ‘So if there's anything you'd like to know about the laboratory and the research, anything at all…' Jannick pressed his card into Destin's hand. Destin studied him carefully; the Dane was young, egocentric and hungry – the perfect entry into the Kronos Laboratory.