Moscow Forth And Back 5522s

Kendran Brooks

Moscow forth and back

Second Adventure of Family Lederer

pb

First Edition (in German) as eBook 2008

Revised Version 2021

Copyright © Kendran Brooks

Cover picture: Fotolia, New York, USA

Cover: Kendran Brooks

London, Spring 2005

"And what do you want for it?"

"Forty thousand pounds."

"Forty thousand? All right. I'll see if it can be done. Call me in two days, please. To this number."

The elegantly dressed, perhaps fifty-year-old man with the thin moustache and the still full, dark blond-grey hair pushed a small card across the grey-black speckled tabletop. Across from him sat a somewhat hulking man with bitter, tired features. Each of his surely numerous worries had left their mark on it. He took the card, gave it a cursory glance, and slipped it into the breast pocket of his greasy-looking imitation leather coat. Then he rose from his chair at the small, round table in the McDonald's in Piccadilly Circus. He groaned softly and you could see from his stiff movements that although he might only be sixty or a little older, he had been painfully feeling his slow but inexorable physical decay for years. The shaggy, greyish-yellow fringe of hair around his bald head gave the merely average-sized but corpulent man the unkempt appearance of a dosser. His dark brown, stained mackintosh did its best to reinforce this impression. The man appeared average through and through. In a group of people, one would hardly have consciously noticed him. And even those who stood near him and looked him straight in the eye would forget him after a few minutes.

In front of the entrance door, the man pushed up the collar of his coat. It had become chilly on this March evening and the damp air all the more unpleasant.

He turned to the right, walking away with slow, tired steps towards Leicester Square. After a few seconds, he disappeared among the hundreds of tourists and Friday night partygoers.

A thoughtful Henry Huxley, master of a Masonic lodge and good friend of Jules Lederer, remained in the McDonald's. Yes, he would call the Swiss tonight about this matter. Doyle Muller had so far been a reliable seller of information to him, also a skilful trader who could estimate the market value of his goods quite accurately and never asked for exorbitant prices. Why shouldn't an ageing MI6 official also earn a little extra money for the years after his retirement? State pensions were not that lavish.

*

"Hello Jules, long time no see."

Henry's joy was not feigned, for Jules had indeed not visited London for several weeks. The two had met eight years ago when they uncovered a plot against the British Minister of Defence. Since those days, Henry and Jules knew that they could completely rely on each other in any situation and a deep friendship bound them together.

Constantly on the lookout for mysteries to unravel, the physically quite different men shared one and the same spirit of exploration. In their hearts, they were true explorers and adventurers who also took calculated risks if they proved unavoidable for the clarification of a question.

Henry Huxley was the typical Briton, always a little distinguished, polite but reserved, friendly but rarely cordial. One would have estimated him to be fifty years old, though his thick hair and youthful flashing eyes made him appear rather younger. Only the fine fan of wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, the deep vertical furrow in the middle of his chin and the somewhat sagging skin at the base of his neck indicated his true age, which might have been a good ten years higher. He was slim and tall, around one ninety, but did not look gangly at all, but wiry like an English officer in Hindustan at the end of the nineteenth century. Yes, one could very well imagine this man as the commander of a battalion of scouts operating successfully behind enemy lines. For anyone who looked into Henry's blue-green eyes recognised in them his knowledge of many tried and tested skills and an alert, agile mind that could quickly recognise and analyse any situation and use it for its own purposes.

Jules Lederer was dark-haired and had brown eyes, teddy bear eyes, as more than one of his changing girlfriends would agree. His face was attractive, even if his nose seemed rather too wide for his face and his mouth a little too narrow. His lips were full and had that curve that shows sensuality and lust for life in equal measure. The taut skin around his chin and neck, which seemed to stretch over his cheekbones, gave him a strikingly masculine, almost ascetic, but in any case, very athletic appearance. Even under the well-cut suit jacket, not only a trained eye could discern a rich play of upper arm and shoulder muscles when he moved. One would have guessed the merely average-sized, youthful-looking man to be in his mid to late thirties. But he was probably a few years older.

"Hello Henry, the pleasure is all mine. You have something for me, you told me on the phone last night?"

"Yes, maybe even something big. An MI6 operative named Doyle Muller, who has provided me with useful information several times, has offered me a tape recording. It is said to be a recording of a telephone conversation between an agent of the CIA and a banker from Zurich. The conversation is said to have taken place three years ago and its contents are most interesting, Muller assured

me. I thought you might find this interesting."

"Have you listened to it yet?"

"No. Muller said the content of the conversation was so explosive that he wanted to see forty thousand pounds first. That's his price for listening a single time. He won't give up the tape itself."

"Forty thousand? Just for listening? Sounds interesting. Is this Muller trustworthy?"

Henry scratched his chin, the thumbnail of his right hand scraping along the vertical crevice as if to deepen the notch.

"Yes, I think the information on the tape is worth the money asked. He has never bluffed me or tried to pull the wool over my eyes."

"And which banker are we talking about?"

"Muller didn't tell me that. But he assured me it was one of the top shots in Switzerland."

Jules hesitated only briefly.

"All right, Henry. Put me in touch with this Muller, please. I'll meet with him as soon as possible."

Henry's face twisted into a broad smile and his eyes began to sparkle. Jules and he would once again go hunting together.

*

Jules had also stayed at the traditional The Montague on this visit to London, not because of its proximity to Russel Square Gardens, but because of the hotel's basement rooms. Through them, one could reach an outbuilding. There, a hatch led into the city's sewage system. In the days of air raids during the Second World War, some houses in the area had been equipped with this convenient means of escape. Jules used the underground sewer system to get into an apartment building two blocks away. He had rented a basement flat there a year ago under a false name and had been using it for his own purposes ever since.

Ever since he had given the police the necessary clues to solve the Jenny affair involving Defence Minister Brown a few years ago, Scotland Yard had him shadowed around the clock on all his subsequent visits to the capital. This was probably to prevent him from stumbling into another politically explosive matter for the English crown. But that morning Jules wanted to escape his guards in the car in front of the hotel for a few hours. He had an important appointment.

His basement flat contained some unsightly second-hand furniture, as ers-by could see from outside despite the rather blind windowpanes. But in the bathroom, there was a new, highly professional dressing table with bright

spotlights and a whole row of small drawers.

From one of the fans, Jules picked up a fake nose that he had had made to fit his face at Charles Fox's in Covent Garden. It sat perfectly on his own and after he had concealed the edges with a little make-up, it looked exceedingly real with its small, fine, reddish-bluish veins. It gave him a certain coarseness, despite his otherwise narrow and fine-cut face. Jules stuck a false, puffy lip beard with unevenly cut dark hair under his nose. This made him a less well-groomed appearance in his late forties. He also smeared some gel into his hair, which made it appear greasy and sticky. He changed his jogging suit and training shoes from the hotel into too large, washed-out, and worn jeans, well-worn sneakers. A baggy black wool jumper completed his attire. Together with the stained Chelsea scarf, he transformed into a physically spent, grumpy-looking factory worker and football fan from the Eastend of London. Once again, the thousands of surveillance cameras in the British capital would follow him wherever he went but would hardly identify him as Jules Lederer.

The Swiss man put the money he had brought with him into an old plastic bag from Tesco and then made the short walk to Holborn tube station. It had drizzled that morning and the streets were still damp. Only slowly did the pavements fill with people and the sky above them seemed to be just waiting for enough victims to accumulate for another downpour.

He overtook two old women who were walking carefully on the sometimes slippery pavement in front of him. One of them said to the other, "It's a disgrace the way our Prince Charles treats Camilla, don't you think?", to which the other said, "Why should he treat her better than Diana? Charles is a gentleman through and through in his own way. His dogs and horses are more important to him than his family".

The two women cackled away in a discordant canon.

Just before the entrance to the station, Jules ed two bobbies whose eyes briefly brushed him before they fixed on a homeless man sitting on a dry spot on the ground under a canopy with his back against the wall of the building. He seemed confused or drunk or both at the same time.

Jules arrived at Liverpool Station at half past nine and headed straight for the meeting point as arranged.

"Hi, Jules," Henry's voice addressed him from the side. His friend had set up behind an unfolded newspaper and was discreetly surveying the station concourse, "any pursuers you still need to shake off?"

"Hi, Henry. No, everything's okay."

"Then please go to the toilets. Muller is in the third cubicle from the right. To recognise him, whistle The Rain in Spain from My Fair Lady."

Jules sat down in the fourth cabin from the right, closed the door and whistled softly the first bars of The Rain in Spain. Then he slid the plastic bag with the forty thousand pounds under the wall into the next cabin.

He heard the money being picked up on the other side and a quick rummage in the bag. Then a coarse hand with broad, hairy fingers and scruffy nails slid a pair of headphones under the wall. Jules grabbed it and put it on. A crackling sound told him that a cassette player was being switched on the other side.

"Good afternoon Mr. Waffle, it's me," Jules heard a voice speaking broad American English, probably a Texan, "did you enjoy our little demonstration with your daughter? Were we finally able to convince you that you should our cause with all your might?"

On the other side, first heavy breathing and then a laboriously suppressed swearing could be heard. But then an angry voice rumbled out, its nervous, almost hysterical staccato betraying its owner's insecurity.

"You fucking bastard. What did I ever do to you to make you threaten my family?"

"But Mr Waffle. It's not about what you have done so far, but about what we want you to do for us in the future. You recklessly rejected my first, quite friendly offer, so that we felt compelled to do a little more convincing. And? How are things now? Has the kidnapping of the little girl finally made you realise that you don't stand a chance against us? This time you were able to hold your daughter safe and sound after only three hours. The next time a member of your family will die if you do not finally do what we demand of you. I hope we understand each other, Mr Waffle. I explained our deal to you in detail a week ago. Start implementing it. Or do you want to see one of your loved ones dead before you become reasonable?"

The American's voice sounded almost bored at his last words, which made his threat even more terrible. He seemed to basically not care what Waffle chose.

The banker at the other end of the line audibly struggled for composure. Then his contrite voice could be heard softly: "Yes, you damned pig, yes, I'll do what

you ask of me. But it won't be that easy. The investment strategy of my bank is not decided by me alone. There are committees and, of course, the board of directors as the highest authority. Without the consent of all these bodies, I can't implement your plan at all, and whether I can convince my colleagues, I highly doubt."

"Don't worry about that, Mr Waffle. You are not alone, because we naturally have other decision-makers from your bank in our hands, as well as two of the board . The riskier investment strategy we have worked out will be waved through the committees without much dissent. Trust us."

"And what is the point of all this? Why do you want to harm my employer? Are you working on behalf of an American hedge fund? Is this about a speculation against my bank?"

"But Mr Waffle. You think much too short. But our motives should not interest you further. Just one more thing to say goodbye. We will, of course, keep a close eye on you and your every move. As long as you follow our plan, nothing will happen to you or your family. However, should you deviate in any way, we will strike without further warning. Are you aware of that?"

For a moment there was silence on the other side.

"Yes, I have realised that in the past few days," came the answer quietly.

The new crackling sound revealed the end of the tape. Jules pulled the receiver from his head and slid it under the wall. Then he plucked some paper from the roll, flushed the toilet, and thoughtfully left the cabin.

Monday, 23 June 2008

The invitation from Vladimir Sokolow had arrived last autumn when Alabima was heavily pregnant and they could not possibly travel. The birth of their daughter Alina three weeks later went off without a hitch and the little girl has grown up splendidly ever since. This summer, there was actually nothing more to be said against a visit from Jules' former client. That's why the Lederer family from La Tour-de-Peilz, situated on the beautiful Lake Geneva, started packing their suitcases that morning.

"Have you stowed my washing things yet?", Chufu called down into the living hall from his room on the first floor. Jules stood among a loose pile of suitcases and looked around frantically.

"Yeah, I think so. You put it with your gym stuff, didn't you?"

"To the gym stuff? No. My sports stuff is still up here on the bed. But the washing stuff is already gone. But another question: Do you have an empty suitcase left for me?"

"Another suitcase, Chufu?", Jules' voice betrayed a rapidly swelling desperation, "what do you need it for? I think you misunderstood us. We're not moving, we're just going on a fortnight's holiday in Moscow," and Jules added in a biting tone, "so you can leave your winter clothes and ski boots here."

Like most people who owned little in childhood, her seventeen-year-old adopted

son tended to hoard anything and everything he could get his hands on. It had taken months to break him of the habit of stockpiling edibles in his room. He was always picking up chocolate and other sweets from the cupboards in the kitchen and hiding them in the chest of drawers under his underwear or in the cupboard between his shoes. For a rainy day, he had always said with a shrug and an innocent smile on his lips.

Now he would have liked to take his mini stereo and PlayStation with him on holiday, probably together with his collection of old Herman comics. Jules was about to shout out a biting remark in this regard when his wife Alabima stepped out of the living room into the hallway with little Alina in her arms.

"My God, Jules. You men are also slobs. You should just get your stuff ready to go. Is that so hard? I wonder how you used to be able to pack your bags all by yourself when you were a bachelor?"

"It's all Chufu's fault," Jules tried to deflect, "he'd even pack the dirty laundry from the basket if I only let him".

"Not true at all," it sounded from the first floor. The son-man had foolishly heard his adoptive father's reply, "Jules is playing the great organiser here, but can't get anything done himself and barely leaves me room in the suitcases for the essentials. I'll have to walk around Moscow naked."

Jules shrugged his shoulders in surrender and whispered to his wife, "Worse than any diva," whereupon Alabima held him out her daughter over two large hardsided suitcases.

"Give your stressed father a big kiss, princess."

Little Alina smiled radiantly at him, even seemed to grin cheekily across both cheeks, as if she had understood exactly how much Jules felt overwhelmed with the travel preparations.

The Swiss had to laugh out loud when he recognised the sly expression on his daughter's sweet little face. Then he quickly leaned over to her and first pressed a smacking kiss to Alina's cheek, but then embraced his wife's shoulder with his arm and pulled her a little closer to him. They kissed ionately for a long time while their daughter watched them with astonishment on her face.

"If I didn't have you two," he puffed happily.

"And what about me?"

Chufu stood at the top of the landing, both arms packed with T-shirts, tracksuit bottoms and a pair of sneakers on top, grinning down at them.

"Well, come and get your kiss then," Jules shouted up in mock annoyance, to which his adopted son only pursed his lips in disdain, stepped to the railing and opened his arms, shouting, "Watch out for a grenate."

Somewhere the guy had picked up that stupid phrase from the Swiss military that you have to shout out when you pull off a practice grenade and throw it into the field. His sports clothes, however, fell down quite compactly and landed

precisely on the blue cloth suitcase, which was already lying well filled on the ground.

Jules became angry.

"I see. You want to put them in there, your things, in this suitcase here?" he called up, upset, "all right, my boy, no problem. I'll be happy to stuff your things in there too," and Jules ripped the zip open a bit and began to squeeze the training shoes in through the narrow slit.

Alabima watched him shaking her head and said with a pitying smile, "do you actually know that you are hopelessly mes your own laundry right now?"

Jules paused, startled, opened the lid of the suitcase all the way, looked closer and straight at his formerly smoothly ironed vests and T-shirts, which were now lying scrambled together inside.

"Bum...mer," he said meekly, "I'm sorry, darling."

"Get a grip on yourselves, you childish people," Alabima exclaimed sternly, "work together according to plan and forget your constant teasing. The taxi will pick us up in half an hour. The countdown is on for you."

Oh dear, Jules thought to himself, so that's how it was. His wife was already aiming for supreme command of the Lederer family's first four-man expedition abroad. Well, maybe that was for the best.

"At your command, oh my general," Jules replied loudly, standing playfully at attention, and saluting briskly, laughing amusedly at Alabima.

"Stand at ease, soldier Lederer, and continue to work swiftly. Private Chufu will certainly assist you energetically if you ask him nicely."

She smiled smugly at him and Jules thought inevitably at that moment, you little beast.

"I heard that, soldier," was her response to his expression.

"And why are you making Chufu a private and I am just a common soldier?"

Before Alabima could answer, it already resounded down from above: "Private has to be earned through hard, determined work and unparalleled obedience to the cadre, soldier Lederer. If you continue to try, in a few years you may yet become a useful member of our association. Keep trying hard and do your best."

Jules scrunched up a curse on his lips while Alabima disappeared back into the living room with her daughter, laughing softly.

Of course, they finished packing in time. But when the Mercedes minibus of the taxi company turned into the forecourt of their villa, Jules looked at his wife in complete amazement.

"Couldn't get any bigger than that, could you, darling?"

"Well, three hard cases, the blue cloth case, three bags and the pram. Should I have ordered a Smart car, darling?" she said mockingly, "the smart woman builds ahead when she has to travel with two male slobs like you.

*

When they arrived at the airport, they packed their things onto two trolleys. Chufu took one, Jules the other. His stepson and he got on like most of the time without exchanging a word. As if on command, they suddenly ran off and towards the Swiss check-in counters. It was the eternal competition of the two. Who would reach the destination first and triumph over the other? Chufu narrowly won this time because Jules had to dodge an elderly woman with her damn suitcase trolley. The woman came from the left and clearly took the right of way from him, which his son coldly took advantage of, elegantly avoiding the near collision and reaching the check-in counter first.

Of course, Chufu bawled out his victory unduly loudly and patted his thighs contentedly. And Jules, to the laughter of his adopted son, also earned the pitying look of the woman behind the first-class check-in counter.

Father and son then had to wait for Alabima for quite some time. She approached leisurely, with Alina in her arms and the tickets and ports in her handbag. Twenty seconds was a hell of a long time to stand idly in front of a counter person and be exposed to her gaze.

When the luggage was finally checked in, the customs check cleared, the shopping mall was gone and her flight was called, Jules breathed a sigh of relief for the first time that morning. Her holiday could begin.

*

"You've told me little about the Sokolows so far. As usual, you're making a big secret of your past. You know them from before, you said?"

Alabima had leaned over the wide back of her seat in the first class of the Airbus 320 to Jules and routinely pushed Alina the just lost dummy back between her daughter's smacking lips. Chufu sat behind the three of them and amused himself with the electronic entertainment programme on board the modern aircraft. Next to him sat an attractive woman in her mid-twenties with long blonde hair. Chufu kept furtively eyeing her from the side. At the age of seventeen, he had long been receptive to female charms, even if the woman seemed rather too old for him. After all, she was already showing the first fine lines around the corners of her mouth. But her perfume beguiled him with its subtle musky scent overlaid with strong citrus. He kept diverting his eyes from his electronic game and towards her.

Her light make-up was flawless, he noted iringly. The glowing red lips seemed to have been carved out with a chisel, so sharp were the edges. Chufu unconsciously sighed slightly, whereupon the young woman turned her mischievous face to him briefly and smiled mockingly at him.

She knew very well her effect on younger and older male semesters. Chufu

promptly blushed and went back to the game of chess he had long since lost to the computer. Hopefully, the blonde next to him would not notice. He quickly ended the game and started a new one.

"Yes. I did a job for Vladimir Sokolow nine years ago," Jules said quietly, turning to Alabima. She saw in his eyes the deep seriousness and the images that brought back the memory of the case.

"What was it about?"

"You know I don't like to talk about my work from the past and I don't want to burden you with it. But I think you have a right to know more in this case. Vladimir Sokolow was in trouble with a local criminal organisation at the time. They were trying to extort protection money from some of his businesses. He had hired me to put a stop to that."

"A criminal organisation? Like the Russian mafia?"

Alabima's voice sounded worried.

"Not the mafia, just a few rash but extremely brutal boys who overestimated themselves and thought they could set up their own business in Moscow."

"And you solved this problem for Sokolow?"

"Yes, I did. Actually, the army did the work for us. I some of the generals from my first time in Russia, you know, back when Yeltsin was able to swing into power after the August coup ended and replaced Gorbachev. I spoke to one of those generals about the bandits and he ordered an anti-terrorist exercise a little later in the building where the gangsters' headquarters were. In the course of this, the soldiers came across the extensive arsenal of weapons and in the ensuing fierce firefight, all the of the gang were shot dead. Three soldiers also lost their lives."

Alabima looked at her husband in horror.

"That's terrible."

Jules looked at her guiltily.

"Believe me, I am really not proud of this solution, definitely not. But it was a nasty gang that tried to bite off a piece of the blackmailer's cake with all their might. With two bomb attacks against Sokolow's facilities, they wanted to make him compliant. More than half a dozen innocent people died. Someone simply had to put an end to this madness."

"And the police could not take action against these gangsters?"

"Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple in Russia at the time, and it probably still isn't today. There are different interest groups that reach out from politics, to the economy, to the secret service, the army, and the police, to the mafia and other crime syndicates. After perestroika, a struggle for distribution of economic goods had broken out all over Russia at all levels of society, a struggle that has

even intensified since energy prices exploded two years ago. Think of the arrest of former Russian billionaire Mikhail Khodorkovsky. He was convicted of tax evasion, forcibly expropriated and is now serving an eight-year prison sentence merely for ing pro-Western parties in Russia and daring to oppose Putin and denounce rampant corruption."

"And to such a dangerous country you take us?"

Alabima's voice resonated with serious concern.

"Oh, we're just four tourists from the West, like many millions of others who flock to Moscow every year. My mission for Sokolow was also almost ten years ago. No one there still re me."

"At least the Sokolows still do, as their invitation to us proves," his wife said sceptically, "and maybe others do too? What kind of person is this Vladimir Sokolow anyway?"

"He is an oligarch of the first hour, one who earned his first billions already in the early nineties."

"His first billions? I thought Russia was still a communist state back then. How can someone scrape together billions?"

"Sokolow once told me in detail. At that time, it must have been ridiculously easy for a determined man to make a large fortune. Through his good

connections to the party headquarters, he was able to bribe some istrative officials. Thus, he obtained import licences for various technical devices from the West. In the early 1980s, for example, he started buying up fax machines on a large scale in Europe and the USA. You have to know, at that time fax machines were something quite new. They revolutionised communication between companies, maybe not as much as the internet with its emails a few years later, but still tremendously. Because suddenly you could exchange detailed information or conclude contracts within minutes, which had previously taken many days. In Russia at that time, fax machines were scarce and in great demand. But most companies did not have the necessary import permits, nor did they have Western foreign currency. Sokolow knew this, of course, and that's why he accepted payment in kind for the machines, mainly scrap metal."

"Scrap? How can you earn billions with scrap?"

"It all depends on the quantity. At that time, a fax machine cost him about a thousand American dollars to buy. He then sold the machines for, say, sixty tonnes of first-class steel scrap or twenty tonnes of aluminium scrap. You certainly know that poor economic coordination in the centrally run Soviet empire led to ruinous blunders. But in this vast country there were and are so many natural resources that there was never any need to worry about waste. The resulting scrap metal was therefore not recycled at all, as it was in the West. For decades, only new steel and aluminium were produced, while the discarded vehicles and machines piled up in huge scrap yards. Sixty tonnes of scrap steel or twenty tonnes of aluminium had an equivalent value of about five thousand dollars in the West at that time. So Sokolow bought a fax machine for a thousand and sold it for five thousand. Not a bad deal when you think that in a few years the Soviet Union needed hundreds of thousands of these machines. And a little later, the fax was followed by many millions of personal computers. Sokolow made his money like hay all these years without the slightest economic risk."

Alabima looked at her husband in disbelief.

"Millions of computers?"

"Don't forget, the economy of the Soviet Union at that time was divided into tens of thousands of collective farms with millions of individual enterprises. The demand for modern office equipment and later, after the opening of the borders to the West, also for high-quality office furniture, was simply gigantic. I myself experienced how delivery times for office furniture in Europe rose from four to twelve weeks in the mid-1990s, because most of the production was sold off to the Eastern Bloc at fantasy prices. The Soviet Union's scrap trade with the West reached such enormous proportions in those years that prices collapsed by half worldwide. Iron ore mines and steelworks all over Europe were put under severe financial pressure for years and had to reduce their production or even close down. The fact that steel prices worldwide have risen again in the last ten years is less due to unbroken demand than to the Soviet Union's dissolved scrap storage facilities, which are now empty. There is no cheap supply and prices can finally rise again. But Sokolow and other oligarchs had their billions in the dry long ago."

Jules looked at Alabima's forehead. She was trying to imagine all this, how Russia was plundered in a few years by a few determined men, how the many millions of tons of scrap metal accumulated during the Soviet era gradually made its way to the West at dumping prices, how the steel industry worldwide was squeezed by this blessing from the East. Jules added: "This happens wherever the state artificially seals off its markets from urgently needed imports, while at the same time leaving certain loopholes open. There are always profiteers who accumulate huge fortunes in just a few years. You can find a variant of this, for example, in the sale of medicines in Africa. Many countries there have strict foreign exchange controls. For most goods, there are restrictions on the value of imports, including expensive medicines from the West. However, the demand in the country exceeds the planned import quantities. But because the state does not have enough foreign currency, it has to do without a nationwide supply for its population. However, as soon as a government is voted out of office, the pharmaceutical companies quickly bribe the old ministers and

in return receive a special permit for additional imports. Later, the new government has to find a way to stop the massive outflow of foreign currency elsewhere in order to keep its own currency stable."

"Is this also the case in my home country?"

Alabima looks at Jules with obvious concern.

"Yes, it would probably be the same for your people if the government ever changed. But thanks to the electoral fraud of 2000 and 2005, the EPRDF is still in charge of your country. Ethiopia at least saves itself these expensive political replacement costs," Jules said sarcastically.

"And what kind of person is this Sokolow?"

"You'll like him, I think. He is very educated, like many Russians. He knows a lot about literature and likes to surround himself with choice works of art. By now he is well over sixty years old and has certainly become a little quieter. I suppose to some people he seems a bit arrogant, but that's nothing special in a self-made billionaire."

"And his business is still running smoothly today?"

"At that time, he had made an agreement with Yeltsin. He left him alone. I'm sure he also found a way with Putin later on. He will probably give the party a fair share of his profits and also donate a lot of money to social causes. As far as

I know, he has invested his fortune today mainly in the natural gas sector and in Russian banks. Forbes currently estimates him at eight to ten billion dollars."

"And a man like that just invites us to his house?"

"Sokolow is a bit older than me. But we got along excellently right away. He was still a real pirate back then, or perhaps better put, a privateer who knew the circumstances of his country very well and acted accordingly. He is still married to his first wife Irina, a rarity in modern Russia, where the rich change their wives more often than we change our cars. They have a son called Nikolai and two daughters who are about your age, Yelena and Natasha."

"And where do the Sokolows live? Right in Moscow or outside?"

"Where they live? I'm sure they'll have a few houses or flats in the city. But I think they still live most of the time at their dacha, about thirty kilometres outside Moscow."

"A dacha? Isn't that a Russian weekend house?"

"I wouldn't call it a weekend house in this case, darling. But you'll see for yourself in a few hours. Let yourself be surprised."

Three months later: Monday, 29 Sept. 2008

Jules must have been sitting motionless in little Alina's room for an hour, had pulled up a chair next to the empty cot, sat down and had been staring at the snow-white sheet, which was only slightly creased, lost in thought. He felt that his right leg had fallen asleep, for he could no longer move it, hung as if dead against his body, numb and dead.

Should he get up and thus wake up the ants in his bloodstream? But for what reason should he get up from that chair again?

Outside, dusk was falling. Dull autumn light filtered through the windowpane, lulling everything in the room. It was as if heaven itself wanted to mercifully dull the pain in Jules' chest. But the gloom had long since eaten its way into his heart, had spread there, poisoned his soul.

How could it have come to this?

Unconsciously, Jules shook his head.

ittedly. He had failed all along the line as Alabima's life partner and as Chufu and Alina's father. And he had been severely punished for it by fate. But could a punishment be so devastating? Was it just?

His family doctor, Robert, a really good friend, had prescribed him some tablets. He should take them for a few weeks, Robert had urged him, then he would feel better again.

But what did his doctor know about his grief?

Yes, Jules wanted to grieve, was not at all ashamed of this deep feeling of hopelessness that took hold of him more and more each week and drained him of his will to live. Yes, he longed for this self-destructive mood in his heart, for the gloom that was eating up his life from within

What was the meaning of life?

What was the meaning of his life?

Jules ed a good friend from the past. He had written a short story about the meaning of life. Yes, the book should still be on the shelf in his office downstairs. Should he go and get it?

He decided to do so. Groaning, he stood up, unable to put any weight on his numb right leg without buckling. He paused, panting, stoically enduring the intense pain as the blood made its way through his veins and veins. Still limping, he went down to the entrance hall, to his office. Yes, there it was, so bright orange that it had to be spotted at first glance among all the other books. He pulled out the slim volume, went back up to Alina's room, sat down again on the chair next to the cot, picked out the story.

*

The meaning of life

A few weeks ago, I was at the Gymnasium in Tübingen. A teacher had invited me to the writing course of her graduating class. I secretly suspected that I was to be presented there as a cautionary tale of an incompetent. But I just had the necessary time and the desire and therefore dared to make an appearance.

The teacher turned out to be an ardent irer of my books a little later, so I let her choose three or four short stories to read to the students afterwards. After the students' polite rather than enthusiastic clapping, the generally usual question and answer session began. Number three was already a real hit: a pretty blonde with a saucy look and a pointed nose asked me what, in my opinion, was the true meaning of life.

Before I could casually reply with, of course, Sex, Drugs and Rock’n’roll, I called myself to order and said instead: "The meaning of life? Not an easy question to answer. Let's explore this eternal riddle of humanity together.

Our way of finding the answer should be as rational and objective as possible. Let us leave aside all sentimentalism and above all philosophy. Feelings obscure the real connections and philosophy can be used to justify everything and nothing. Instead, let us stick strictly to the known facts.

Plants and animals are parts of nature. Nature means constant change in environmental conditions. To cope with this change, nature has developed the concept of evolution: One generation follows the previous one and with each of them small changes are built into the genes as a possible response to changing living conditions.

In reproduction, plants and animals are strongly guided by their instincts and less by experience. Although in some animal species the mothers on some knowledge to their children for life, this ing on of information is limited to direct, personal guidance due to the lack of recording possibilities. This severely limits the quantity and quality of the information.

For this reason, plants and animals must continue to rely almost exclusively on evolution. In order to prevent the extinction of their own species, the purpose of life for plants and animals is therefore solely to reproduce their own species.

With us humans, the situation is somewhat different. We have developed language, and later images and writing, in order to be able to on experiences more directly and extensively. So not only the knowledge of our parents is available to us, but the experiences and insights of millennia. I think it was Terry Pratchett, the author of the Discworld novels, who described man as a storytelling monkey, which probably caricatures us very aptly.

Thanks to the reservoir of existing and ed-on knowledge, we can adapt to changes more quickly than the rest of nature. Flu viruses are a good example of this. No sooner are they created by nature than their effectiveness is nullified by modern medicine.

This superiority over nature has existed for a long time. A few hundred thousand years ago, man discovered fire for the preparation of food and thus greatly

expanded his nutritional possibilities. At least since that time, he has therefore been in search of a second meaning in his life, besides reproduction.

Unfortunately, the quest for more meaning constantly brings us into new difficulties. Think of the religions that explain things to us that science cannot prove beyond doubt. Religions satisfy our metaphysical need. But those who find their second sense of life only in religion easily start wars against those who believe differently, against the enemies of their second sense of life. Or let us think of the great conquerors, kings, and captains of industry. They create their empires for themselves without consideration and by all means over which they can rule. In the process, the fate of their subjects plays only a minor role for them. However, both the religious fanatic and the person striving for power have found their idol, at least temporarily, to whom they can pay homage and who makes them happy.

Artists also have moments of happiness when they have created something unique. Or take the winners in sports or games. They all feel great and are overjoyed. Yes, even the underdog feels a sense of happiness if only he has fought well enough. And precisely this should be the second and actual purpose of our lives, namely, to feel happiness.

Perhaps you are now asking yourself how to find happiness? It's easier than you might think. To answer this question, let us return to the first meaning of life.

The sense of constant reproduction is based on the concept of evolution: that which constantly renews itself can adapt. We can fulfil the second meaning of life, to feel happiness, by living according to the concept of having joy and giving joy. For those who create joy for themselves and give joy in the same measure not only feel happiness alone, but they also allow others to share in their happiness. Look for as many joys as possible and give as much joy as you can. But always weigh up which joy gives you the most happiness here and now and limit yourself to that. Because no one can live out all the joys of the earth.

At a party with friends, for example, you have to choose between stimulating conversation and alcohol intoxication. You can't have both together. Therefore, always weigh things up wisely.

More than two thousand years ago, the Greek philosopher Epicurus made happiness the only real meaning of life. In doing so, however, he restricted this happiness too much to his own person and thus also fomented egoism. For a long time, the Epicureans were therefore considered to be egoists who were addicted to pleasure. You should not let it get that far. No. In order to be happy, it is not only necessary to experience one's own joy, but also to experience the joy of other people.

And if at the same time you are also doing nature justice and fulfilling the first purpose of life in the process, so much the better for humanity. «

I was highly satisfied with what I had said. However, the classroom remained silent for a few seconds before a few of the students began to tap their knuckles on their desks, which I took as general approval of my answer. My head was pleasantly empty at that moment, as if all its contents had been poured out. I was one with the universe. The follow-up question from the same blonde brought me back to reality, however, because she wanted to know if I liked pizza.

*

Jules closed the book. Yes, we humans demanded more meaning in our lives. Our reproductive instinct was enough to marry, have children and raise them. But the many separations and divorces proved that this purpose alone was not enough in the long run. Some people therefore turned to a cause with fervour.

Whether it was a religion, a role model, or a hobby hardly mattered. Others, on the other hand, buried themselves in a flurry of activity, perhaps in order not to really have to think about their remaining years on earth. As Goethe wrote in his The Sorrows of Young Werther? It is a monotonous thing about the human race. Most of them spend most of their time living, and the little bit of freedom they have left so frightens them that they go to any lengths to get rid of it.

And Epicurus' teaching can be summed up in a single sentence: Avoid pain and torment, and do not inflict pain or torment on others, and you will find true happiness on earth.

But how could he ever feel happiness again after losing the most precious thing in his life? And if happiness is the very meaning of human life, under what circumstances could he continue to live?

Jules rose from his chair again, stepped to the window, looked out through the curtains at the dark lake below. Not much longer and the night would hide everything, first the mountain range in the distance, later the lake and even the garden. It was only a few steps down to the water. It would be very cool, barely ten degrees Celsius. The cold would quickly penetrate his body, first desensitising him, then paralysing him completely. Indifference would overtake him, welcome him warmly.

He went back to the chair, sat down, stared at the sheet with the fine wrinkles. His gaze was blank.

2005, Summer

"For the installation of the bugs we charge you a flat rate of fifty thousand francs. This also includes the subsequent removal of the devices. For the 24/7 monitoring of the microphones and the special work, our hourly rate is three hundred francs. VAT is not yet included in these amounts."

The man in the inconspicuous, brown-grey, athletically cut suit had sat down at the very front on the edge of the chair he had been offered by Jules. It almost looked as if he feared scuffing the piece of furniture too much. They had sat down in Jules' office in his house on Lake Geneva and discussed the planned assignment of the private detective and his associates in the case of the banker Waffle.

The perhaps thirty-five-year-old looked extremely friendly, also proper, and exceedingly correct, had a finely cut face and quite feminine hands, as Jules had noticed during the greeting. His narrow nose and thin lips, which looked like lines on his face, showed a person who never promises more than he will deliver. His handshake was pleasantly dry, warm, and firm at the same time. There was no phoney sitting in front of Jules Lederer, but a professional who relied on his skill, knowledge, and experience.

"Then we are in agreement, Monsieur Glasson," Jules answered the questioning expression on his visitor's face, stood up and held out his hand to the private detective across the desk.

"You'll let me know as soon as the bugs are installed?"

"Of course. And from then on, every day you will receive a list of all telephone calls in Mr Waffel's house, as well as a written summary of the most important information from the conversations. If required, we will of course also supply you with the original records. You will receive the invoice for the installation of the equipment and an advance payment for the operating costs in the first quarter this week. I'm glad we can do business together, Mr Lederer."

The man said goodbye and walked purposefully to the door, opened it, stepped into the hallway, and immediately closed it again quietly behind him. By the time Jules had stood up and reached the hallway, the front door was already falling gently into place with a click. Jules looked at the man through the peephole, but he had already disappeared from view.

Back in his office, Jules lay down on the Soft Pad Chaise he had bought a few weeks ago. This chaise was developed by Charles and Ray Eames in 1968. The idea, however, had come from Billy Wilder. The American director had been looking for a chaise long enough to take short breaks to relax. The piece of furniture had to prevent Wilder from falling asleep for hours at a time. The director did not want to lose valuable working time through unwanted long naps. The two designers then worked with him to develop an extremely comfortable couch, but it was so narrow that you couldn't rest your arms anywhere on the side of your body. You had to keep them folded on your stomach. However, as soon as you were about to fall asleep and the muscles of your limbs began to relax, the arms slid down your sides due to gravity and you woke up.

An ingeniously simple solution to a difficult problem and an impressive example of really good design that always found the technically simplest solution for the intended purpose.

Had he also thought of everything? Was it ethical to send a detective agency

after the banker Waffle and wiretap him at his home? But what else could Jules do? The Swiss was too sure that this telephone conversation intercepted by MI6 was genuine and had taken place in exactly the same way. Now Jules simply had to find out for sure to what extent Waffel had actually implemented the CIA's plans or was possibly still doing so.

Waffle's office on Bahnhofstrasse in Zurich could hardly be successfully bugged. The executive floors of the big banks were searched and electronically surveyed by internal security guards every three or four weeks. Jules had worked for an international bank himself years ago and therefore knew the usual security protocols. But within Waffle's own four walls, this Zwinglian thoroughness was not to be expected. At least that's what the detective agency and Jules hoped.

He must have dozed off for a moment over his train of thought because he jerked up on his couch, startled, and realised that his arms were hanging down to the right and left of his body. Quickly he sat up and tried to recollect the last thoughts during his half-sleep. One name stood out, Roger Spälti. Roger had been his mentor at the big law firm Jules had ed right after graduating from business school. Later they became friends. Roger was already in his mid to late forties at the time and one of the firm's six partners. And he was an avid connoisseur of Asian martial arts. Jules had met him at a Taekwondo exhibition in the indoor stadium in Zurich. At that time, the organiser also wanted to show a show fight with nunchakus, these wooden sticks connected with a short chain, for whose perfect handling Bruce Lee became famous. Next to Jules, Heinz Keller was the most skilled with the difficult-to-control weapon in their Asian Fight Club, and so the two of them did splendidly at the exhibition, earning much applause from the audience. Later, Roger Spälti came into the dressing room, asked them a few questions, and then offered them a job in his office. What they should do there was not really clear to them after the first interview. But the excellent employment conditions and the prospect of extensive travel around the globe were simply too tempting for them both to refuse. They got to know Roger better and better in the weeks and months that followed. His friend Keller was soon sent by the firm to well-heeled clients for whom he probably had to solve minor and major problems, as Heinz mentioned to him in confidence. What exactly Heinz did, however, Jules only found out a few

months later. The motto of the firm was: "The fewer people know what you do and how you do it, the fewer problems you'll have afterwards.

After one of his assignments, however, Heinz Keller did not return. When Jules asked, Roger Spälti took him into his confidence.

"Heinz was murdered in Haiti last week."

"Murdered? How? And by whom?"

"He was attacked and strangled in the lift of his hotel. He got in the way of a gang of blackmailers. You know, Jules, we've been trying to buy three holiday hotels down there for a few months for one of our clients from the USA. He just needs them as tax write-offs, but he's got it in his head that it has to be Haiti and those hotels. The local protection money mafia, however, is all too greedy and demands thirty percent of the purchase price for keeping quiet. That would be several million dollars and decidedly too much for our client. Because under this condition, his investment would no longer be profitable from a tax point of view. Heinz was down there to negotiate with the guys and push down their price. They probably killed him to show us how little we can do in their sphere of power."

"And you're sending me down now?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, you certainly wouldn't have told me the circumstances surrounding Heinz's death if you weren't going to."

Roger looked at Jules inquiringly for a moment.

"Only if you want to, Jules, only if you really want to."

"Please get a seat booked for me on the next plane and give me all the information and reports we have on the case."

Up until then, Jules had primarily solved problems with the tax authorities for the law firm and its clients, thereby straightening out files a little or testifying as a representative of the law firm before various judges. Roger Spälti probably thought at the time that Jules was not yet ready to take on the really delicate and above all dangerous and thus often violent tasks. But he was wrong. At that time, Jules' career began as a reliable remover of tangible difficulties.

But why had Roger Spälti's name even occurred to him in his half-sleep? Did it mean something? What would the experienced front man of the firm have done in his current situation? Perhaps approached Waffle directly and tried to build up counter-pressure and thus get him to talk? No. Jules could not compete with the CIA's power apparatus. Such a thought was simply ridiculous. If Waffle had indeed met the Americans' demands and the bank was in danger, Jules would have to choose a much more subtle way to counteract.

Maybe he should call Roger sometime or preferably sit down with him right away. His former mentor had been retired for years and lived with his Malaysian wife Yolida on a small island of Sumatra, which he had bought after selling his

shares in the law firm. A visit to the Spältis could hardly hurt.

*

Over the next weeks and months, Jules received report after report from the detective agency. When the total cost reached the three hundred thousand franc mark, he knew enough to take the next steps. Waffel had more than once held business meetings at his house on Sunday afternoons, and so it had become clear to Jules that the major bank for which Waffel worked as Chief Executive Officer had long since abandoned its hitherto cautious investment policy. For a good two years, more and more money had been moving into the American housing market and into securitisation of loans to universities and students. Waffle had also been able to sell the board an incredibly high leverage of over sixteen. This meant sixteen times the bank's equity was put into securities and other investments for its own , financed by low-interest, short-term loans from other banks. The point of such high leverage was, of course, to achieve an interest rate differential of a few basis points sixteen times over, but this leverage grew to many percent of equity. Together with the traditional banking business, asset management and investment banking for clients, a return of well over twenty percent on the company's capital could thus be achieved.

But financing long-term investments in real estate securities and bonds with the help of short-term loans has been a mostly fatal strategy since time immemorial. As soon as any crisis occurred and the long-term papers could no longer be sold quickly and at a cost-covering price on the market, the lenders' short-term loans, which were no longer available, inevitably tore one into bankruptcy.

Had the bank's board of directors lost their minds? Or were they all so convinced by their mathematical models for calculating the alleged risks? Did they really only trust computer evaluations, formulas and analyses and no longer common

sense, which had long since been formed in the banking industry over the last three hundred years? Or were other leading figures in the bank besides Waffel actually threatened and blackmailed?

Jules found the high proportion of investments in the American housing market via so-called structured products on subprime loans particularly frightening. He still ed well the real estate crash in Japan, at the beginning of the 1990s. Even today, after fifteen years, the financial shock was not yet over. After the 1987 stock market crash, low-interest money had been offered by the National Bank for too long in Switzerland, too, so that house prices first rose sharply, only to correct even more sharply downwards afterwards. In 1992, real estate in Switzerland was worth as much again as it had been six years earlier. And the banks subsequently had to write off fifty billion in mortgage loans.

In America at the time, house prices fell by at least twenty percent across the board and thousands of savings banks filed for bankruptcy. According to Jules, something similar had been in the offing again since 2003. The annual increases in value in the US housing market had reached record levels and in contrast to the conservative financing in most European countries, where houses were usually mortgaged at no more than eighty or ninety percent of the purchase price, financing of one hundred and ten or even one hundred and twenty percent had long been common in the US real estate market. The new homeowner was supposed to not only take out a mortgage that was far too high, but also buy a new car. Or he could comfortably pay the mortgage interest for the first three years with the money from the far too high loan. After a few years, the value of the property had risen sharply anyway and could be sold at a healthy profit if necessary. At least that was the theory of the eternal losers.

What an insane idea, too, to assume that property prices would rise in price forever, regardless of the business cycles that every economy has gone through since time immemorial. At some point, every spiral of economic growth, rising incomes, higher prices, further corporate profits, and increased investment came to a halt. Then the hustle and bustle suddenly collapsed and hangover returned

for a year or more.

Economic downturns always caused the value of capital goods to plummet as well. For a new machine that was not being utilised was suddenly only worth a fraction of the purchase price. And when buyers failed to materialise, property prices immediately and sharply corrected downwards. If, for example, rising interest rates on mortgages put undue pressure on owners, they could no longer sell off their much overpaid houses en masse to cover costs. They became homeless and lost all their savings.

As early as during the Depression in the 1930s, there were the dreaded jingle mails in the USA. These were envelopes in which the previous owners simply sent the keys to their over-indebted houses to their bank, while they quietly and secretly packed up their belongings and left the state in order to build a new existence debt-free elsewhere.

Sooner or later, the current economic cycle would also come to an end. But in the last three years alone, real estate prices in the US had risen by a whopping twenty-five percent. And the upward spiral seemed to be accelerating. With this development, a crash of house prices in the USA by at least thirty percent was inevitable. Anyone who was invested in American real estate at that moment had to reckon with heavy losses.

Jules fondly ed the year 2000. At that time, a completely unrealistic relationship had established itself between the profits achieved in the Internet industry and the share prices reached on the stock exchanges. At the search engine company Yahoo, for example, the share price was at times five hundred times higher than the annual profit achieved. However, a ratio of twenty-five to thirty would have been normal for a strongly growing company. The prices paid on the stock market for Yahoo shares were at least fifteen times too high. This was a wonderful opportunity for Jules to rake in money in raw amounts and without any real risk. By buying put options on Yahoo shares, he was able to

triple his fortune within a few months. For Yahoo plunged from its high of one hundred and twenty dollars to a low of five dollars at that time. The unhappy investors thus lost ninety-six per cent of their stake at the time, while the Swiss in return raked in several million in profits.

For Jules, therefore, one thing was certain: if the major bank for which Waffel worked did not adjust its strategy in the next two years, it would have to walk into an open knife and could catch tens of billions in write-offs. That would bring the big bank to the brink of ruin. But why would the CIA be eager to destroy a major Swiss bank? What had the agent said in his conversation with Waffle? You are thinking far too short.

A shudder ran down Jules' spine as he realised what this Texan must have meant by his words. He decided to act immediately.

*

"What is so unusual about the bank's strategy? Every company tries to maximise its net profit, considering all the framework conditions."

The business journalist from the Neue Zürcher Zeitung looked at him sceptically, the corners of his mouth pulled down cynically, his brow furrowed. Jules had met him in a pastry shop on Bahnhofstrasse in Zurich. He wanted to tell him his fears about the big bank's increased willingness to take risks but had told him nothing about the telephone conversation between the Texan and Waffle, confining himself to the bank's changed investment policy.

"It is not unusual for investment banks to inflate their balance sheets to sixteen times their equity. In the US, individual institutions sometimes use leverage of twenty-five or even thirty. This is the only way to achieve returns of 25% and more. We have arrived in the new millennium, Mr Lederer. The risks are now better under control than ever before in history, thanks to extensive communication, lightning-fast IT, and sophisticated model calculations. I therefore consider your concerns to be completely unjustified. The Americans have been showing us for years how to do this business successfully. The big banks in Switzerland are following in their footsteps today, but they still have a lot of potential. I wouldn't be surprised if the Swiss banks, thanks to their larger istrative assets, could soon sur the financial giants in the US, not only in of size, but also in of profitability."

"And it doesn't bother you that the bank invests mainly in fixed-income, structured products with American subprime mortgages and student loans as collateral? In the event of an economic downturn in the US, both could become cluster risks right away and mean big financial losses for the bank?", Jules asked back, somewhat annoyed. He had expected a lot from the meeting with the journalist. A sharply worded article in one of Switzerland's most renowned business newspapers would certainly have shaken up one or the other of those responsible in the state banking supervisory authority or in the organs of the big bank, perhaps even forcing them to act more cautiously.

"The majority of financial products on American real estate enjoy the AAA rating of the leading rating agencies. And rightly so because their issuers are without exception large investment houses. In addition, the two giants Fanny Mae and Freddy Mac stand in the background, which can easily cope with even a brief stuttering of the economy. The student loans you mentioned have also proven themselves for many years. The default rate is extremely low. As long as the bank only invests in such first-class assets, I really don't see a fly in the ointment. Don't forget, Mr Lederer. The USA is a huge country. Every year, its resident population increases by two to three percent through immigration alone. That is the real reason for the demand for housing, which has been increasing for years, and also the price driver in the real estate sector. Have you ever visited one of these mega construction projects in the USA? No? Huge areas are zoned

and developed in one fell swoop. New highways are built and then ten thousand single-family homes are planned and built in stages, along with shopping centres, schools, and cinemas. Entire satellite towns were created within a few years. It is a tremendous drive that has long since gripped the entire USA and is driving it forward. Incidentally, in their latest study on population growth and the development of house prices in the USA since the late 1950s, Professors Kimbel and Haggerty have demonstrated crystal-clearly and conclusively that there is a correlation here and that the price increases of recent years correspond exactly to the catch-up potential they calculated, which is far from exhausted. No, Mr. Lederer, I think you are completely wrong with your scepticism and are making an uncontrolled elephant out of a thoroughly proven gnat, without, however, providing conclusive proof of its existence."

The disappointment was evident in Jules' face. He had wanted to convince the journalist of his concern without revealing too much of the background. Should he tell the man more and let him in on the intercepted telephone conversation between the Texan and Waffle? But what proof did he have of the CIA agent's threats at the time? Only his testimony. And the secretly recorded conversations from Waffel's private villa only showed that the bank was well aware of taking on a greater investment risk, but in return also expected a perpetually bubbling source of profit and believed the dangers were under control.

The journalist said goodbye with a somewhat wry look at him and left Jules alone at the table with the two empty coffee cups and the bill from the pastry shop.

What should Jules do next?

He had been rebuffed with his direct intervention with the president of the board of the major bank. Whether the man himself was under a threat from American intelligence or simply believed in his mathematicians was essentially irrelevant. After his rejection, Jules had made representations to some of the bank's larger

shareholders. But these approaches also failed to produce any results. They simply did not take him seriously. The bank's earnings were rising steadily from year to year and new profit records were being set. The risk remained under control and everything was fine.

What did this fool from the French-speaking part of Switzerland want from them? Nobody in the world needed a second Doctor Doom.

Monday, 23 June 2008

They had just completed the immigration formalities at Domodedovo Airport in Moscow when two young men headed straight for them. They appeared to be twins, in their mid to late twenties, with short blond hair and hard looking faces. One of them addressed you in English: "Jules Ivanovich Lederer? I am Alexei Barisavich Dnieper and this is my brother Alexandr. We have been instructed by our employer, Vladimir Mikhailovich Sokolow, to pick you up and escort you to him. Please follow us."

Without waiting for an answer, the two Russians turned and headed towards the baggage carousels. Alabima and Chufu looked at Jules in surprise and Chufu asked, "Jules Ivanovich Lederer? Didn't know you had a middle name?"

"I didn't officially either," Jules said with a smile, "but in Russia, your father's first name is always your middle name. The Sokolows know that my father's name was Jean, so Ivan in Russian, and that's why my full name here is Jules Ivanovich Lederer."

"My name here in Russia is Chufu Julesovich Lederer? It's hard to say. Who thinks up such nonsense?"

"Nobody. That's just the custom here since time immemorial. But it's called Julesiwitsch, not Julesowitsch," Jules said lightly, "but come on, otherwise we'll lose touch with the twins.

They walked behind the two Russians and after a few seconds Alabima said appreciatively and teasingly at the same time: "Definitely not badly built, this reception committee. Tall, broad-shouldered, and extremely athletic. Proper boys in Italian tailor-made suits. Bodyguards, no doubt? And you say we're travelling here in Russia as normal tourists? How come they can intercept us here, even before we clear customs?"

"Vladimir Sokolow is no ordinary man and his name still seems to open some doors here in Moscow."

"Are they actually KGB?" asked Chufu with interest, "I mean, the way they look."

"You watch too many bad Hollywood hams and are hopelessly behind the times, my dear son. The KGB has been disbanded for many years. The new Russian domestic intelligence service is called the FSB. But these are definitely not secret service people, because they are not lent out to private individuals."

This time Jules carried their daughter Alina in a hanging bag in front of his chest and had his right arm wrapped around Alabima's waist. They kept up with the two bodyguards more poorly than well, while Chufu hurried ahead of them, aping the twins' jagged gait. This, in turn, did not suit Jules, who did not want to annoy the two Russians unnecessarily.

"Not bad, son," he therefore called after him loudly, "now three or four more years of hard training in a special unit in Siberia and you can start working for the Sokolows as a bodyguard. Should I ask him if he still has a need for a young, cocky dumbass?"

Chufu only had a "cutup" for him. But he let himself fall back and also stopped imitating the bodyguards.

The twins let them show them their suitcases and bags on the rotating belt and silently loaded the luggage onto two coolies, which they pushed in front of them towards the exit. At the custom they were waved through without being checked and a little later they were standing in front of the airport building, where a black Zil 41047 was waiting for them in the no-parking zone.

That Vladimir had them picked up in this Russian version of a stretch limousine astonished Jules. The car had hardly been technically developed for twenty years and, with its missing catalytic converter, would no longer have been ed anywhere in Europe. But the car was brand new, as they could tell when they sat down in it, because the new-car smell clung to the leather seats. Vladimir must have developed a new love for Russian products, because in the past he only had German or English noble brands.

As expected, the Zil's suspension floated in every bend, similar to American sedans from the sixties. And on bigger bumps, they kept hitting hard because of the shock absorbers that were pushed all the way down. Jules knew that the payload weight of the three-ton monster was only four hundred kilograms, which the six of them plus the driver easily exceeded.

But the engers had generous space inside to compensate for the rather rough ride, and even the pile of luggage had disappeared into the depths of the huge boot without any problems. Towards the front, towards the driver's compartment, a wall without windows had been raised, which unfortunately made it impossible to see through the windscreen. On the other hand, the engers enjoyed a uniquely private atmosphere. You could almost feel like you were in a living room. The impression was further enhanced by the Japanese rice paper wallpaper on the side walls and the wide sofas made of dark cowhide. A small television provided images from a Russian channel. The sound, however, was

turned down.

The two bodyguards pointed them to the small refrigerator at the front left and asked the Lederers to supply themselves with drinks as they wished.

Alabima and Chufu sat next to each other on a leather bench and seemed a little inhibited by the twins' presence. They were mostly silent on the ride through the city, exchanging words at most in whispers, but looking out through the windows with interest, first with joyful anticipation of the unknown metropolis on the Moskva, but a little later with some disappointment in their faces. The Russian capital probably offered less unusual things than they had expected.

Before Alina was born, the three of them had travelled to the big cities of Europe a few times, so they had both long since become accustomed to modern stone deserts. And Moscow was unfortunately no exception, even if the churches with their onion domes always provided exotic splashes of colour.

The sky was covered with a grey veil of clouds and it had probably rained recently. Not a nice outlook for their holiday. But the weather forecast predicted improvement for the next few days, as Chufu had already clarified and informed them at home via the internet.

Meanwhile, Jules chatted with her two companions. They readily told him that they were former SpezNas agents and had been working for the Sokolows for two years. This fact told Jules how high the billionaire must be in Putin's favour. Men in this special unit were normally committed to the Russian state for life and could not simply quit and take up employment in the private sector.

"Armesyskiy SpezNas?" asked Jules straightforwardly, for he wanted to know whether the two companions were primarily military or intelligence trained.

"Smarsunsk," replied Aleksej, whom Jules perceived as the more detached and therefore probably older of the two. As with many identical twins, the order of their birth had imprinted itself on their faces and their behaviour. Because of Alexei's answer, Jules now also knew that, as of the army section of the SpezNas, they were heavily trained in counter-terrorism. So not only did they seem like tough guys, but they certainly were also.

The two bodyguards thawed more and more due to his fluent Russian and the younger one, after a sideways glance at his older brother asking for consent, asked him: "May we know how you know Vladimir Mikhailovich Sokolow?"

"But of course. That is no secret. I took on a delicate problem for your employer about ten years ago and solved it to his satisfaction. We have been friends ever since."

"Ten years ago?"

The two thought for a moment and tried to events that they could relate to the Sokolows and that were so far back in time.

"Did you perhaps have anything to do with the Koshia brothers?" the older of the two then asked cautiously.

"Yes," Jules answered curtly, not wanting to say more. The two Russians nodded appreciatively. They had already heard about the destruction of the Koshia gang from older comrades during their SpezNas training and had now got to know Jules as the mastermind behind this solution to the problem. That he had risen in their esteem and that they therefore trusted him even more, Jules noticed above all in their growing willingness to answer his questions directly and without thinking.

"Yes, we live on the Sokolow estate."

"We are sixteen guards in total."

"Around the clock in three shifts of eight hours with four men each."

"Four to eight men are available for the family at all times."

Alexandr was indeed the second-born, as the two assured, exactly a quarter of an hour younger than his brother Alexei. They had grown up in the orphanage, where they had been anonymously handed over by their parents a few weeks after their birth. They had taken their patronymic Barisavich from the director of the orphanage. And their surname Dnieper came from a geography book they had been using there for years to name anonymous orphans.

Perhaps it was due to their not easy childhood in the home that even today, as grown men, they maintained an extremely close bond and understood each other without words. When Jules asked the younger Alexandr something, he usually glanced briefly at Alexei's face to get his approval for the answer. Jules observed Alexei's facial expressions more than once during their silent conversation but

could not detect any movement in the older man's face. It seemed as if the brothers were communicating by telepathy. However, this conversation did not happen the other way round. Aleksej did not ask his younger brother for permission and Jules realised that the older and somehow more level-headed Aleksej was also the leader of their two-man team.

They had long since left the suburbs of Moscow and had been driving for some time through seemingly endless birch forests, which quickly led to a pronounced boredom in Alabima and Chufu. First Chufu yawned heartily, then Alabima ed in a little more discreetly. The two then looked at each other with smiles and apologies. Time for a little lesson in Russian manners, Jules thought to himself.

"By the way, I still have to prepare you for the usual forms of address here in Russia. As long as you don't know our hosts very well, or they don't offer you anything else, the Sokolows will be called Vladimir Mikhailovich and Irina Pitrovna. You should memorise these names and, out of courtesy, always mention them in full when addressing them. You two, in turn, I will introduce as Alabima Effrediwitsch Lederer and Chufu Julesiwitsch Lederer. «

"That's what I call a really tightened holiday programme," Chufu said with a shrug, "is that all we need to know? Vladimir Mikhailovich and Irina Pitrovna?"

"No, not quite. Since I know both of them very well, we use the short form of our first names among ourselves. That's why Vladimir is Volodya to me, Irina is called Ira and I am Julja to them. «

"This is getting worse and worse," Chufu groaned, rubbing his nose, which must have started to tickle at the Russian euphemisms, "no wonder the Soviet Union went under. «

A sideways glance at the two bodyguards showed Jules that the twins were in no way offended by Chufu's flippant words but continued to smile with friendliness and interest.

"Vladimir Mikhailovich and Irina Pitrovna," Jules repeated for good measure, watching Alabima and Chufu recite the names again in their minds to them.

"And what is the Russian short form of Alabima and me?" asked Chufu curiously.

Jules looked at Aleksej promptly. He first shrugged his shoulders and then said: "Labi and Chufu, I guess. What's already short can't be shortened any further."

"Hey, I'm one seventy-five," Chufu immediately grumbled, "you can hardly call that a short guess?" to which all five laughed heartily.

"Labi and Julja," Chufu added with a grin, "which of the two wears the tros in this marriage? My money's on Labi, that sounds much more masculine."

Alabima suppressed her laughter as best she could, while Jules just shook her head in feigned incomprehension. The two bodyguards, however, looked at each other in complete neutrality. They hadn't really understood Chufu's joke, probably because Julja sounded anything but feminine to their ears.

"Our daughter's name is Alina," Alabima said, addressing the twins directly for the first time. She seemed to be slowly losing her reserve towards her Russian companions. The little girl sat on her lap and had been looking at the two foreign men thoughtfully but with interest the whole time. The eyes of the two bodyguards had flashed briefly at the mention of their names, as if receiving an explanation from Alabima. Then the younger Alexandr nodded and said, "A very apt name, if I may say so."

"Why?" Alabima asked back, surprised, and interested.

"Alina is short for Albina here in Russia and Albina stands for noble."

Alabima showed open surprise turning to Jules, "Did you know that when we chose the name for Alina?"

"Honestly, no, my darling. Even I don't know everything."

The Zil drove through a long right-hand bend and across a wide clearing, ing a large wrought-iron gate. To the left and right, high wire mesh fences led into the forest. The gate and fence looked lonely and completely out of place in the middle of nature. They had not ed a house for some time and even now there were only trees and grass all around. The gate wings had stood wide open, but immediately began to close after they had ed through, as they realised through the back window. Alabima and Chufu looked questioningly at Jules.

"It seems that we have now arrived at the dacha compound. But the main building is certainly still three or four kilometres ahead," and turning to the two bodyguards, "the last time I was here a few years ago, the gate was at least two

kilometres closer to the main house. Has Vladimir Mikhailovich bought some more land?"

"Yes, a year ago," Aleksej answered in English since Jules had also asked him in that language so that Alabima and Chufu understood.

"And how big is the property in total now?"

"About two thousand square kilometres."

Alabima looked at Jules in extreme surprise, while Chufu shook his head and said: "That piece of land is three times the size of Lake Geneva.

"Forest land cost only two hundred francs per hectare here in Russia a few years ago. For the two thousand square kilometres the Sokolows paid how much, Chufu?"

"The rule of three is stuff for third graders, you joker," the latter grumbled contemptuously, but then thought for a few seconds before answering, "forty million Swiss francs or thirty-eight million dollars, twenty-four million euros, twenty million pounds or four billion yen. Any other questions, big one?"

Alabima looked at her adopted son with pride. She had taken the boy to her heart just as quickly as Jules after meeting him in Hara. Later, after her marriage to the Swiss, it had been no question for either of them to adopt Chufu. And even though she was more of an older sister than a mother to the boy, she had

developed quite similar feelings for both children, especially after the birth of little Alina.

"And how are things with your securities portfolio at the moment, my mathematical genius?", Jules asked back combatively. He loved the verbal arguments with his almost grown-up son more than anything else.

"Seventeen percent return, extrapolated over the year. But I will still part with the financials until September. They can certainly be bought back at a lower price later. In the winter or spring, I want to invest heavily in the large insurance companies. They have already suffered greatly from the fear of investors. But the prices will fall even further. I like Zurich and also Swiss Re. That's the company Warren Buffet bought three percent of last winter. But Buffet paid an average of over seventy-five francs a share and it's currently at sixty-five. But I tell you, I'll definitely be able to buy for under forty next year," was his playfully dismissive reply.

Alabima and Jules had already set up a bank and securities for Chufu a year ago, both of which he was allowed to manage electronically on his own via the internet. He was to be able to deepen his awakened interest in economic contexts in the microcosm of the stock exchanges themselves. After a few initial wild speculations, Chufu had quickly started to listen to Jules' advice more and deliberately bet on a financial crisis, starting from the American real estate market. He had gone short on some US financials and was able to quickly recoup his initial losses this way. By the end of last year, he had already doubled his capital. Since then, Chufu believed that he knew everything there was to know about the financial markets and that he would later be able to earn his money easily as a successful investor. Jules and Alabima were sure that the boy would sooner or later learn that trees did not grow to the sky. But these first successes had obviously done his self-confidence good.

Jules turned to the twins in Russian: "If you ever need a tip on the quickest way

to lose your hard-earned money, all you have to do is ask my son."

The two laughed, whereupon Chufu eyed all three men suspiciously.

"What did you tell them?"

"except you're the financial genius in the family."

"I don't believe you. I'm sure you've made fun of me once more."

"Where do you come up with that?" said Jules in a tone of deliberately false conviction, teasing his son further.

"You're just jealous because you had such a lousy performance on your investments last year," came his reply as if shot out of a pistol, "first you told me about the coming real estate crisis and then you just dithered anxiously and did nothing."

Jules was about to start a fierce justification, but Alabima intervened vehemently: "Stop your eternal bickering, you child heads. You are not at the vanity fair here. You, Chufu, take Alina off my hands for now. And you, Jules, take me in your arms and give me a kiss in return."

Alexei and Alexandr watched with amusement as the rather petite woman held

her own against her two men, but then discreetly turned their gaze out the side window as the two shared a long French kiss. Meanwhile, Alina played with Chufu's nose, tugging at it with her chubby little hands and making her brother smile.

*

The Sokolows' dacha consisted of a three-storey main building that could only be described as a palace, with a wide open space in front surrounded by flowerbeds. To the left of it were obviously stables, and to the right were the servants' quarters. Surrounding the buildings was a spacious park enclosed on three sides by woods. The entire estate was spread out on a flat hilltop and from here one had a wide, unobstructed view of meadows and marshes to the west. The sunsets were certainly enchanting to watch.

The buildings did not seem to have any electronic surveillance. At any rate, no cameras could be detected. This was probably because the complex was secured in a wide radius. Intrusive cameras close to the house were therefore unnecessary. Their journey after the gate age to the dacha had certainly been followed without any gaps. For Irina and Vladimir Sokolow stepped out of the entrance gate of the main house upon their arrival and came down the wide marble staircase even before their car had stopped.

"Dabro pashalawat, what a joy."

Vladimir's greeting could hardly have been more cordial. He was still a wiry, if only medium-sized, but well-proportioned man. His grey, carefully trimmed beard gave him something distinguished, which was emphasised by the sporty

hunting coat and black leather boots he was wearing that afternoon.

"Please forgive me for receiving you so informally. I shot some partridges in the park earlier, for the dinner in your honour tomorrow evening."

"Hello Volodya," Jules greeted him warmly, "what a pleasure to see you healthy and so lively again. It seems as if the years have ed you by without a trace. May I introduce my wife Alabima Effrediwitsch? Labi, this is Vladimir Mikhailovich Sokolow."

"Enchantée, Madame," Alabima was greeted by the oligarch. As he did so, he gently and formally grasped her fingertips, brought her hand up to his face with an elegant sweep and indicated a kiss on the back of her hand, perfectly maintaining the required distance of ten centimetres between his lips and her skin. Immediately afterwards, he gently stroked Alina's cheek with his index finger and whispered a tender, "Yes, and who do we have here? A little princess?"

Alina first looked at the strange man a little uncertainly and with a furrowed brow, but then suddenly began to beam, as if she had discovered something particularly pleasing in the Russian's face.

In the meantime, Jules was taken in by Irina Sokolow. She hugged him warmly and kissed his cheeks, letting him embrace her.

"You've kept us waiting far too long for your visit, Julja. When did we last see each other? Wasn't it in Paris, two years ago? Or has it been three?"

"Oh, my dear Ira, too long in any case. But you know yourself how time slips through one's fingers. But now we are here with you and will stay for a fortnight, I promise. And this," he turned to both Sokolows, "is our son Chufu Julesiwitsch.

The boy shyly shook hands with the Russian oligarch but was immediately met with wet kisses on the left, right and again on the left cheek, concluded by a firm, heartfelt slap on the left shoulder. Then the Russian billionaire said in an extremely affable manner: "What's with the formality? Please call me both Volodya and my wife Ira. And I'm sure I can call you Labi and Chufu, yes?"

The two nodded happily and Chufu said cheekily, "You're welcome, Volodya. I was afraid I'd have to keep breaking my tongue with all the long names here in Russia.

Before Vladimir could say anything back, Chufu was pulled to her large bosom by Irina and embraced effusively, with Alabima, Jules and Vladimir looking on amused and smiling. It was obvious how overwhelmed the young Filipino felt by the woman's tumultuous greeting. His completely frozen body with the large, frightened eyes looked too comical in the strong arms of the Russian woman.

Alina in Alabima's chest bag made herself heard with a sneeze and Irina immediately slapped her hands together enthusiastically and rushed over to her, laughing at her and rubbing her nose against hers.

"Oh, what a cute Malyschka you are. You must be terribly tired from your long journey, aren't you?"

"Let's go inside first and have tea together," Vladimir suggested, turning to Jules, "you're staying at the Meridien, did you write to us?"

"Yes, we have reserved a suite there. Alabima and Chufu want to explore Moscow extensively, of course. We don't want to be a burden on you here either."

"Nonsense, Julja. You know very well that we have enough guest rooms here. But I can understand that you want to be independent from us and therefore prefer to set up your quarters in the city. No problem for us. You could also move into one of our flats there if you wanted to. But the Meridien might be more comfortable for you. By the way, how did Alexei and Alexandr behave towards you?"

The two bodyguards had stood a little apart and routinely checked the surroundings of the dacha with watchful glances. They waited patiently for further orders from their master.

"Perfect, Volodya. You chose them well."

"Yes? I'm glad. But I didn't expect anything else from them either. Are you okay with them continuing to accompany you while you're in Moscow? Just for your safety, from pickpockets and such, I mean."

Jules had to smile, "That's very nice of you."

"Now come on inside the house. It's much too damp out here for the little one," Irina intervened, grabbing Alabima's elbow with one hand, tickling Alina's chin with the other at the same time, and pushing them both up the stairs with gentle force. The three men ed the women.

*

The Russian tea ceremony differed from the English one in many ways. Instead of cups, people in Russia used glasses with metal bases. The central role, however, was played by the samovar, a large, often richly decorated silver kettle. The water in it was kept hot for hours with glowing pieces of coal. The samovar hummed softly, which in itself created a cosy atmosphere. On top of the kettle with the hot water was a pot of strong brewed tea. People poured some of this extract into their glasses and then diluted it with the hot water from the kettle. The tea was not sweetened with sugar, nor was its sharpness softened with a drop of milk as in England. Instead, they put a spoonful of Warenjie, sweet, boiled fruit, in their mouths. The tea was slowly poured over the fruit compote so that they mixed together.

Irina opened the table with a hearty "Prijatnogo appetita!", to which they all ed in except little Alina. The little one lay more than she sat between Irina's thighs, had her head leaning against the Russian's belly, felt extremely comfortable and protected, looked around slightly lazily and dozed off again and again with half-closed eyes.

Chufu promptly choked on his first attempt to mix Warenjie with tea in his mouth. He coughed a little to them while the tea spurted out of his nose. The others laughed heartily at the little mishap while the boy reached half blindly for

the napkin. Meanwhile, Jules, Vladimir and Irina looked curiously at Alabima, the second newcomer to Russian tea ceremonial. But the Ethiopian confidently avoided the obvious risk and drank her tea unsweetened, looking at Jules with a triumphant smile.

"Won't you try some of the delicious Warenjie, my darling?" he promptly teased her, to which his wife smiled superiorly at him and said, "Am I still not sweet enough for you, my darling?" to which the Sokolows laughed heartily at her repartee.

Two liveried servants served them platters of hearty food to go with their strong tea. Cabbage cakes, blini with caviar, pickled herrings, smoked fish and butter and sour cream. Later came delicious piroshki, slices of fruit bread, almond rings, and a crumble cake.

They drank tea, enjoyed the rich table and had stimulating conversations, of course also talking about Jules, Alabima and Chufu getting to know each other in Ethiopia and their current life in Switzerland. A little later, political, and economic developments in Russia and the world also came up.

"What do you actually think of our new president?" asked Irina at one point, curiosity about the answer written all over her face. Jules looked at Alabima and Chufu, but they were happy to let him answer.

"We in the West have difficulty in really assessing Dmitry Anatolyevich Medvedev. Many believe he is merely a puppet of Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin. They perceive Medvedev as a kind of governor who will hold the place for four years until Putin can be re-elected president. Also, most think Putin remains the sole determining force in Russia, even though Medvedev theoretically sures him in powers."

"And what do you think personally, Julja?" interjected Vladimir with interest.

"What do I think? Well, anyone who makes it to the top of a nation as great as Russia is never just someone else's puppet. Only a real doer, a person who is able to assert himself ruthlessly against opposition, a planner and strategist, can attain such a position. There is no doubt in my mind that Dmitry Anatolyevich Medvedev will prove to us in the coming years or decades that he can think and act without the blessing of Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin."

Jules had deliberately used the politest form of address for the two most powerful men in Russia, because he did not want to upset the pair of oligarchs, whose current political views he did not know. However, the two nodded vigorously in agreement with him, and Vladimir said with a wink: "I guess there are still a few bright minds in the West who understand our Russian soul properly."

"I, for one, had to laugh out loud when I watched the old and new presidents enter the Kremlin for the handover of office," Chufu interjected, "first Putin arrived in his black limousine, got out and then walked all alone and in his usual brisk stride, always swinging his right arm a little more than his left, through the palace and past all the guards and later the audience to the lectern. A few minutes later, Medvedev followed. And the poor guy made a frantic effort to walk just as briskly and to swing his right arm just far enough and energetically, just as Putin did before. That was a scream. If the two of them had been walking side by side, the spectators would have ed Pat and Patachon and laughed at them both."

Jules looked at the Sokolows begging for forgiveness. How would the two Russians take his son's less than kind words about the two most powerful politicians in the country?

Irina smirked amusedly, while Vladimir looked mockingly at the young Chufu. The oligarch did not seem angry at all. On the contrary. He had put on the amused, mocking expression of someone really in the know, who wanted to put an intellectually quite inferior interlocutor straight in his place with a few hardhitting arguments.

"You are very much mistaken, my young friend Chufu," Vladimir interjected with a superior smile, "Pat and Patachon were two Danish comedians of the silent film era who were funny mainly because, like Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardie, they were physically quite different. Pat was originally called Fyrtårnet in Danish, meaning Lighthouse, while the comedian known to us as Patachon was actually called Bivognen, translated The Sidecar. Dmitri Anatolyevich Medvedev and Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin, on the other hand, are almost the same height and both are also athletic and slim. Your comparison is seriously flawed, my dear boy, and I can only advise you to use more precise imagery in future if you intend to include it in serious discussions."

Chufu's mouth was open for a moment at the long-winded instruction and he also stared at the Russian with astonished eyes. The others laughed out loud at the sight. Jules was the first to recollect.

"Oh, Vladimir, how I look forward to the days ahead, during which I'm sure you'll get many more opportunities to put my cheeky son in his place."

Chufu, however, had already digested the oligarch's words and went on the counterattack. Smiling triumphantly, he turned to Jules and said in a mocking voice: "You don't seem to be able to do that very often anymore, dear father, as I can see from your childish joy at my insignificant faux pas," whereupon all five of them laughed heartily once more.

Alina lifted her head distraughtly and turned her face from one to the other, staring at them in bewilderment, which incited the five of them to another fit of laughter.

"Tell us a bit more about you, Labi," Irina urged, "we know quite a bit about Julja's life, at least when he was still living here in Russia. But you're still almost a blank page for us."

"Oh, there's not too much to tell. I am the eldest of three daughters of a small Ethiopian civil servant who worked at the tax office in Addis Ababa but is now retired. My mother was a tailor but gave up her profession after the birth of her second child. I also have two older brothers. We children were lucky that my father, as a state employee, received a sufficiently high education allowance for his children. That's why we were all allowed to study. In my case, it was first French and history, later English and journalism. After graduation, I went to a small village in the east of Ethiopia called Hara. There I worked as a radio presenter. Almost two years ago, I met Jules there. We fell in love and ... voilà ... here I am."

She ended with an apologetic gesture of her hands and a bright smile on her face.

"And now you're just a mother and a housewife?", Vladimir inquired somewhat rudely, whereupon Alabima's cheeks reddened slightly, as Jules could see despite her dark skin colour. She gave her husband a quick sideways glance, which showed Jules how much the Russian's rudely direct remark had hit her.

"Not only," she answered him calmly, a touch of defiance mixed in her voice as she continued, "I work for several Ethiopian newspapers and also publish articles

in Eritrea and Somalia. However, I don't get paid for it if that's what you mean. In my reports, I mainly write about Ethiopian refugees' fates on their journey to Europe. And about the not-so-great life of an African dependent on welfare for many months in the First World. You know, Vladimir, many young men believe they can only find happiness in the West and risk their lives for it. My main concern is to show these people that Europe is not a paradise, but that many dangers lurk on the way there, and also that once there, there are few opportunities for an African refugee, for example that one rarely receives a permanent residence permit and that in the vast majority of cases one is sent back to one's home country after years, but also that it always takes many months until one is allowed to work legally and earn money. I show how expensive life is in the First World, so expensive that you can only send a little money home from your earnings, even if you live like a dog. I hope that my information will stem the tide of refugees from these countries a little, that I can destroy illusions and enlighten. Too many young and hopeful people are dying on their dangerous way to Europe, driven by poverty and exploited by unscrupulous profiteers."

For a moment Irina and Vladimir were silent. They seemed impressed by Alabima's flaming speech and had to digest what had been said. Vladimir cleared his throat: "Yes, we here in the civilised countries really only know the fates of refugees from the Third World from the press and the few television reports. Let's better talk about something more pleasant."

Alabima looked at Jules with irritation and also questioning at the words civilised countries. She was proud of her Ethiopian homeland, and Addis Ababa was a big city whose services and opportunities were only slightly inferior to those of Western cities. But Irina Sokolow had not batted an eyelid at her husband's foul words either, not seeming to be bothered in any way by her Vladimir's derogatory statement. Jules recognised how a storm of understandable indignation began to build up in his African partner. This would certainly have to be vented soon and would probably lead to a heated and certainly ugly discussion about the concept of civilisation.

For a young and proud Ethiopian, concepts like family, friendship, cohesion, and respect for elders were not empty words, but part of her lived culture and civilisation. In the rich West, on the other hand, Alabima had had to experience more than once how little these important areas of a human society still applied, how decadent many parts of the system had long since become. But even before Alabima could flare up, Jules quickly interjected: "Yes, Volodya and Ira, we here in the First World usually suppress the less beautiful realities of this earth. We often look down on people just because we don't know and understand enough their rich culture. Did you know that the majority of Ethiopians are Christians? And they have been for over one thousand four hundred years. When Christianity began to spread slowly in northern Europe and Russia, Ethiopia already had bishops and a large number of monasteries for three hundred years. Orthodox Christianity is lived in Ethiopia, similar to Greek or Russian Christianity, i.e., with a stricter interpretation of the Holy Scriptures than Catholic or Protestant Christianity. Ethiopia is also the only country in Africa that has never been under the protectionism of the West or even been a colony. The spirit of freedom of this people has always been stronger than any aggression by invaders, whether they were Turks, English or Italians. At the same time, the people there maintain very intimate family ties and each other wherever there is a need. Hospitality is also held as high in Ethiopia as it is in Russia."

Jules saw how it worked in Vladimir. Then the oligarch understood.

"Please forgive me, Labi, I did not mean to offend or hurt you with my words. I am sometimes an old fool and equate our technical superiority with civilisation. But civilisation goes far beyond the cultural concept of science and technology. Please forgive me for my careless words."

Alabima looked at him uncertainly, unable to really judge his quick and so smooth compliance, but then gave him a conciliatory nod: "It's all right, Volodya, never mind," and she reached her hand across the table to the Russian to confirm her words, which he squeezed briefly.

After the dispute almost flared up, they chatted for a while about the Olympic Games in China. They avoided making any political statements, confining themselves to guessing about the possible winners and which nation might collect the most medals and in which disciplines. At some point, Alabima leaned back in the sofa and threw a satisfied "I'm sure the tsar never ate better than we did today" into the round. She was nibbling on one of the delicious almond rings. These had slight notes of thyme and pepper, which gave them an extremely refreshing and at the same time exotic taste.

Vladimir first looked at the Ethiopian with friendly goodwill, but his gaze suddenly darkened visibly. Had she said something wrong? she asked herself in view of his rapidly changing mood. No, the oligarch seemed to be listening to himself. Then he cleared his throat.

"Yes, that may well be true, Labi. But unfortunately, our Russian cultural heritage is disappearing more and more. The young only watch bad American films and go to McDonald's and Pizza Hut, two of the greatest scourges of humanity, which the commercial West invented and continues to spread to the detriment of the entire world. Fast food. Yuck."

Irina intervened soothingly: "Oh, Walodin'ka, we live in modern times. There's nothing you can do about it. The world is constantly changing and getting crazier. It can't be reversed, even if it doesn't suit us old people. The young have always done what they wanted, even in our time. But enough of that. I'm more interested in what you're going to see tomorrow in Moscow. "

Vladimir looked at his wife uncomprehendingly for a moment, seeming to want to protest. Then he turned his face wordlessly back to the guests from Switzerland. Jules took over answering Irina's question.

"First of all, of course, the Red Square, the Kremlin, the Lenin Mausoleum and the cathedrals. The Hotel Meridien is right next door. And then Chufu wants to ride the metro extensively. He has read a lot about your perfect transport system and can't wait to try it out. He has even written down several routes that we have to take. It's going to be a real scavenger hunt, Moscow underground. I'm really looking forward to it," Jules said slightly sourly and tapped his son's shoulder amicably with his fist before continuing, "Labi and Alina have already signed off for this trip, of course, and are leaving the pleasure to me alone. The two women will be pampered in the hotel's beauty salon in the meantime. We haven't decided what we'll do later in the afternoon. Maybe we'll go for a walk in the zoo. I really have to show Labi some lively and lively minks and sables. Otherwise, she'll be bugging me forever about wanting a fur coat made from the fur of these cute predators."

His wife's flaring angry look instantly exposed him as a liar in front of the Sokolows. He had probably touched a sore spot with his wife by mentioning a fur coat.

"That's not true at all, you fool," was her clarification, "you know very well that I don't want a mink or a sable or any other fur coat."

"But why not, my dear?" Irina intervened lively, "come on, I'll show you some of mine. A pretty woman like you must wear fur. But perhaps a silver fox rather than sable, something modern, with a certain flair."

She gently lifted the asleep Alina from her thighs and placed her carefully between her and her husband on the sofa, then stood up, grabbed Alabima by the arm and pulled her up with gentle force, "Walodin'ka, you please take care of Alina. And you, Labi, come with me for now."

Alabima gave the men another half-desperate, half-amused look before she was led by Irina into the hallway and from there towards the stairs.

"But you're coming here for dinner tomorrow night, aren't you, Julja?" interjected Vladimir anxiously.

"Of course, we will gladly accept your invitation. But I hope you won't go to any trouble because of us?"

"No, no. We'll be with our immediate family. Just our children with their spouses, plus maybe a few business friends you should meet while you're here. All in all, barely twenty people."

"So really intimate. I like that," Chufu once again made a somewhat out-of-place remark, which visibly upset her host for a moment. But Wladimir's regained cheerfulness was not dispelled by the boy's flippant remark.

"Come on, let's have a look at the stables while the women are busy with fashion. I have some new acquisitions that you must see, Julja. Only last month I was able to buy two wonderful Arabian stallions at auction. I'm looking forward to your judgement."

*

They had left the Sokolows at around seven in the evening and had been taken to their hotel by their two shadows, Aleksej and Alexandr, as agreed, and again in the Zil. The younger Alexandr supervised the hotel staff as they reloaded the luggage onto the trolleys, perhaps to make sure it remained complete, while Aleksej meanwhile accompanied the family to reception. The bodyguard stopped between the entrance and reception, secured the hotel lobby with a cool, experienced gaze, then turned to the stairs and lifts. Chufu watched him and considered how a bodyguard viewed such a hotel property in of security. Since Alexei knew his brother was outside with the staff, no danger could come unnoticed from there. And since none of the people present in the hall seemed suspicious to the Russian, only the few entrances remained as possible sources of danger. Chufu found it tremendously exciting to put himself in Alexei's mind. Unconsciously, he tried to copy the Russian, planting himself next to him and surveying the staff hurrying about and the arriving guests in the same, appraising way. When Alexei noticed this, a thin smile appeared on his lips. He liked this bright, sometimes a little cheeky Asian boy. Jules had just completed the registration formalities and received three plastic cards to her suite. He handed one of the porters a hundred rouble note and said in Russian: "Please take our luggage upstairs. We'll have some refreshments at the bar first before we go to the suite."

Then Jules turned to the others: "Or don't you want to drink to the next few days together in the hotel bar? I think we should get to know each other a little better. What do you think?"

The two bodyguards looked a little irritated at first, then nodded hesitantly, while Alabima and Chufu stared at Jules in surprise, wondering what he was up to. Together, they went over to the bar, which was furnished quite homely with dark wood, green leather sofas and dimmed brass lamps. They sat down at a round table in one of the corners. Alina had fallen asleep on the ride into town. Alabima laid her down next to her on the sofa. Aleksej and Alexandr did not seem particularly comfortable. As bodyguards, they usually kept their distance in every respect. While Alabima ordered a tomato juice from the barman who rushed over and Chufu a lager, the other three opted for a vodka neat.

While they waited for the drinks, Jules told the twins everything they wanted to see in Moscow in the next few days. Aleksej noted everything down in a notebook, also giving advice on what he thought someone from the West should definitely see as well. In most cases, Jules agreed with him.

When the drinks were served, Jules wanted to take the opportunity and offered the two bodyguards the DU.

Jules knew, of course, that this was completely unusual even in Russia today. They weren't even friendly to the service staff. They were paid, so they had to function. Nothing more was expected from either side. But Jules wanted to forge as close a bond as possible between his family and the two bodyguards. They should not see them as an ordinary guard job. A heightened sense of duty could never hurt, even if Jules continued to assume no danger here in Moscow. Much more important to him, however, was the state of mind of Alabima and Chufu. Thanks to the informal form of address, the two of them should lose some of their inhibitions towards their two protectors, feel them more as good acquaintances and not as foreign guards.

On the way to the hotel, Chufu had already asked him: "Tell me, Jules. Would they really let themselves be shot to death for us if the chips were down?

He asked in French so that the twins could not understand him but eyed the bodyguards quite curiously and appraisingly.

Before Jules could reply, however, Aleksej answered, also in French: "If there is no other way, then of course yes. Because it is our job to ensure your safety. But that will hardly be necessary. You are hardly a target here in Moscow," he added

with a smile, while his younger brother nodded seriously.

Chufu was taken aback for a moment by the bodyguard's Russian accent, but otherwise very elegant French, then he blushed. If he had previously believed that the two bodyguards were rather dull, raw musclemen with little schooling, he was now proved wrong. At least the twins were trilingual.

Alabima, however, had flinched violently at her son's question and had furrowed her brow. Jules could see how little she thought of her adopted son's nonsensical and yet somehow frightening speculations. Jules therefore reiterated his earlier statement: "Of course we are completely safe here in Russia. We are just four harmless tourists among ten thousand others looking at the city and the surrounding countryside. More than a few pickpockets will hardly lie in wait for us."

The drinks were served and Jules took over the toast: "Since we are spending the next few days together, we will definitely get to know each other better. Here in the West, it is customary to address each other by their first names in such cases. I am Julja."

He pushed his glass lightly against Alexei's. He looked surprised at first, but his face soon twisted into a shy smile. He hurried to say, "My name is Alyosha. Búdim Sdarówy".

Alexandr didn't want to stand back either and now timidly clinked his glass against Jules' and said reservedly, "And I'm Sasha. Twajó Zdarówje", to which Jules exclaimed a hearty, "Na Sdarówje".

Then it was Alabima and Chufu's turn, whereby Alabima still remained quite reserved, but Chufu really blossomed when he toasted with Alyosha and Sasha. Jules was sure he had broken the ice between them a little. Alabima and Chufu would certainly quickly get used to their protectors.

They arranged to meet the twins at nine o'clock the next morning. Then they parted from the two bodyguards and took the lift up to their suite.

When it came to the question of food, Chufu immediately said goodbye to them: "So you can't count on me tonight. I'll order a snack for my room. Because they have Final Armada on offer there, you see? It's absolutely crazy, I tell you. That game doesn't come out for a couple of weeks. God knows how the Russians got hold of that bootleg."

"How do you know what electronic games they offer here in the entertainment programme?" asked Jules back, puzzled.

"The clever man builds ahead, Julja," was the boy's superior and patronising reply, "after you told me at home that we were going to stay at this hotel, I went on the internet and emailed for a list of available video games and also reserved this game. That's how you do it in this day and age."

"Oh, if only our son were as enthusiastic and thorough about his homework," Jules mused aloud, playing the bitterly disappointed, whereupon he received a jab in the ribs from Alabima.

"Be glad we have the whole evening to ourselves, little fool," she whispered meaningfully in his ear. For once, his wife had thought further ahead than he

had.

*

After dinner, Jules had heated up the small sauna ading the bathroom of her suite. After the nanny provided by the hotel had been taught and had taken a seat in Alina's room, Jules and Alabima withdrew, undressed, and entered the sauna. The Ethiopian immediately pushed herself into the arms of the Swiss.

"Take me, Jules," she whispered to him, "take me here and now and let me feel that I am a woman."

They kissed for a long time. Their tongues caressed each other and gave each other lustful promises for what was about to follow. Breathing heavily, they paused and looked at each other silently and up close, searching each other's eyes. Alabima's gaze was full of love at first, but then it was ed by the mischievousness that had so attracted Jules to her from the start and continued to hold him spellbound. It was that special glow, so full of joie de vivre and desire.

Quickly Alabima wriggled out of his arms, sat down on the middle step of the sauna, looked at him lustfully and challengingly at the same time and slowly, even lasciviously opened her thighs, showed him her shaved pubic, which opened up to him. She began to caress her body with her hands, stroking her full breasts, over her flat stomach down to her labia, beginning to stimulate them gently. All the while, she watched her spouse. A triumphant smile showed on her face as his penis stirred and slowly erected. Jules helped him a little with his hand and he was already standing up hard and full of expectation.

"Come," she whispered and pushed her shoulders back, seeking with her neck on the top step of the sauna lounger. Jules ed her and, first kneeling, then half standing, tried to reach her portal of pleasure with his member. Somehow, after two failed attempts, it worked reasonably well. It was always amazing what contortions the human body was capable of when it only wanted or needed to.

Deep and in one go, his member entered her wet grotto. Alabima moaned loudly. But then she also began to push him up to speed and intensity. She wanted to be able to give herself to him completely this time, perhaps also be allowed to feel a sense of being at his mercy. She therefore cheered him on to ever wilder thrusts, so that soon their pubic bones were crashing painfully against each other, over and over again. Jules looked down at her heavy breasts, which had continued to grow thanks to Alina's pregnancy and breastfeeding. Her nipples stood out firmly, the areolas were larger than before and small red-blue veins surrounded them. Her balls moved up and down, up and down in step with his thrusts. Jules tried hard to contain the ever-increasing lust in his loins, but at the sight of his wife's completely twisted eyes, he could hold back no longer and he was already pouring himself into her, letting out a cry of horror.

"Oh, no. Much too soon ... much too soon," and after a short pause he added, "please forgive me, darling."

Then Alabima started laughing, loudly but wonderfully melodically, as he loved so much about her.

"That's exactly what I wanted, silly. It's been so long since you lost control of our sex and gave yourself over completely to my lust and your own. You know, my darling, a real woman wants more than mere satisfaction. She wants the unconditional connection during sex. Only those who can forget themselves completely are really and truly there. But don't worry, darling, I'll get my

money's worth," and with these words she already pulled his penis out of her vagina, bent down to him, and licked him clean with pleasure, also sucking his testicles one by one into her mouth and massaging them with her tongue. Already his member was showing the first signs of recovery. Full of mischief in her eyes, she looked diagonally up past his penis and into his face.

"He still seems to have a desire for Ethiopian girls. Let's see if he's still any good," and with that she turned around on the couch, took a towel, made a roll out of it and put it on the middle step as a cushion, knelt down on it and demonstratively stretched out her bottom to him. He grasped her cheeks, let his hands gently circle and slide between her thighs, stroking their insides with the backs of his hands. Then he pressed his pelvis against her buttocks, pushed his penis between her thighs, bent over her and whispered in her ear "up or down?"

"First on top because I'm full of horniness, and then later on the bottom until I explode."

Jules first gently massaged her bottom hole with his fingertips, then inserted first one, then two and a little later even three of them, thus widening the access, while Alabima began to moan with pleasure. However, it was then extremely uncomfortable for him as he stood on the middle step, to the left and right of Alabima's knees, squatted down, bent forward sharply, and inserted his member into her sweet little hole, then thrust it slowly, the way she liked it. His bulging scrotum slapped against her pubis with each attack, making her wince.

"Faster," she moaned and he increased the cadence of his thrusts.

"Faster, darling," she urged him and he tried, "faster still," Alabima set the pace and Jules reached the fastest gait physically possible for him.

Alabima below him suddenly began to growl. It sounded like the growl of a comfortably angry grizzly bear that had been woken up in its den during hibernation but was still too dizzy to get really angry.

"Oh, this is awesome, oh, oh, I can't take it anymore. Keep going, keep going, keep going."

Suddenly she pulled her bottom back and Jules slid out of her hole, thrusting his member into the void while she had already turned her head towards him and called out to him demandingly, "Now fuck me, Jules, fuck me as hard and as hard as you can."

Roughly, he grabbed her pelvis with both hands and forced it into the most comfortable position for him. Then, in one go, he thrust his stiff member right into her wet pubic region, breaking right through to her pubic bone. Alabima cried out in voluptuous pain. Jules thrust hard into her, over and over again, and began to pant like an old steam engine, for he had already exhausted himself quite a bit during the anal intercourse before.

"Aaaaahhhh, that's good. Keep it up, keep it up Jules, fuck me really hard, show me darling, show me."

He could hardly contain his horniness at these words, lost all sense of time and space, only thrust into Alabima with all his might, over and over again, hardly feeling the burning of his member, only feeling his lust increase and build up even more. Then Alabima's body suddenly began to tremble and shortly afterwards her pelvis really shuddered back and forth. The lust that had built up so far wanted to finally be allowed to spread explosively in her body. But it was

not yet time. Jules could hardly hold back his juice, praying that Alabima would finally come. And indeed, it burst out of her, fierce and primal as seldom before, a wild surge full of jerks of the abdomen with arms flailing uncoordinatedly. She screamed and gasped out her climax, tossed her head with her black curls, buried her fingernails in Jules' forearms, her hands frozen into claws as if in spasm.

Jules reduced the cadence and vehemence of his thrusts, dampening his wife's churning emotions and letting her savour her climax for as long as possible. Her gasp became a pleasurable moan, the pelvis only twitching back and forth irregularly. Then she began to sigh in relief and breathe in more deeply, relaxing her increasingly. Jules increased the speed of his thrusts again, his member soon gaining new hardness and even before he came himself, Alabima's belly began to twitch a second time, no longer so wildly, but sweetly and pleasurably. Together they swung upwards, forgetting everything around them for half a minute, feeling only their shared lust and the intimate connection of their bodies.

For quite a while they remained with intertwined limbs, feeling the sweat between their hot bodies, the radiant heat of their partner's skin. At one point Alabima gave a sigh of relief and said, purring like a cat, "That was good, that was really good."

Jules' penis had long since shrunk and he pulled it out of her pubic area, whereupon she sighed a little disappointedly. They lay snuggled close together on a spread bath towel and exchanged long, tender kisses, over and over again, gently caressing their bodies. But suddenly Alabima broke away from him and jumped up: "Time for a cold shower, darling. Will you come and soap me up?"

After the first icy showers, they switched the artificial waterfall to lukewarm, later to warm. They embraced and kissed each other, rekindling their lust.

"Would you like another round?" she asked him softly, laughing seductively. He nodded silently and she began to stimulate his penis with her hands. Soon he was stiff enough and Alabima bounced up him, holding onto his shoulder with one hand, clasping his body with one leg, bending her pelvis artistically to the side and, thanks to this contortion, inserting his member between her labia even before she clung to him with her second lower leg as well. He ed her bottom with his hands, then carefully leaned her shoulders against the shower wall at an angle so that they found resistance there and he could thrust hard. The water trickled down warmly on her and he pressed out between his lips, "We really must go to Hawaii sometime. I know a beautiful pond with a waterfall in the jungle. I want to make love to you under that waterfall one day."

Alabima did not answer him, remained silent and gave herself over to her growing lust, had her eyes turned up to the ceiling with a blank stare. After three or four minutes, the orgasm came over her, this time very gently and slowly swelling. Nevertheless, her abdominal wall twitched violently, first once, then twice, then more and more frequently, while Jules did his utmost to keep her feeling of pleasure as long as possible. After a while, her body tension eased and she looked at him with newly awakened eyes full of love.

"Yes, you were the one and you still are."

"I sincerely hope so, my dear mother," he said with a smile, "or do you want to leave me and make our daughter a half-orphan?"

"There's no question of that..." she purred, but then added teasingly, ".... at least as long as you can keep your sexual performance at this wonderfully high level."

He slipped out of her pubic and carefully placed her on her feet. They embraced and enjoyed the warmth and softness of their bodies. Then he turned off the tap

and they left the shower, drying each other with the fluffy terry cloth towels. Jules picked Alabima up in his arms and carried her over to their bedroom, setting her down gently on the sheet and lying down beside her. They both stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the peaceful, relaxing moment and the silent presence of their life partner, their hands gently intertwined between their bodies.

"Tell me," Alabima began after a while, "you talked extensively with Alyosha and Sasha in Russian on the drive to the Sokolows' and also later back to our hotel. What kind of people are they?"

"First of all, they have interesting first names, I mean for bodyguards. They both derive from the Greek Alexandros, which means protector."

"Nomen et Omen," Alabima added with a smile, but then said in a more serious voice, "but you're still convinced that we don't need protectors here in Moscow, aren't you? There must be some other reason why the Sokolows insist that the two of them accompany us everywhere."

"No, there's no real reason for it, believe me. I've been travelling in Russia on and off for the last ten years and never experienced a threatening situation, apart from the sometimes quite criminal taxi rides from the airport to the city centre. I myself am certainly not a target, neither for the local mafia nor for the government. No one is interested in us as a family at all. But it is part of Russian hospitality to make provisions for everything and anything. We would have offended Volodya and Ira if we had refused Alyosha and Sasha. They are quite nice, aren't they?"

"Yes, they do. But at the same time, they constantly give me the feeling of a threat. But I'm sure I'll get used to them."

She put on a bathrobe and briefly looked in the next room to see if little Alina was all right.

The light was off except for a reading lamp. The nanny was sitting next to the little bed, looking up from her magazine, when Alabima stepped into the room and tiptoed over to her daughter. The little girl was sleeping soundly and had her thumb in her mouth, sucking on it slowly and with relish, surely processing the positive experiences of the day in her growing subconscious.

Just a few weeks after her birth, her daughter had slept through the night and that would probably be the case today as well. The little one seemed to have no problem coping with the excitement of the trip to Moscow with all the new impressions and faces. And if she should wake up at some point during the night and ask for a bottle, Alabima had long since made provisions by means of a pump. The milk was ready in a warmer. Without a word, but with a grateful look, Alabima put her right hand briefly on the nanny's forearm and pressed it gently. The nanny nodded reassuringly and Alabima left the room as silently as she had entered.

Dead tired, Jules and his wife crawled under the covers and immediately fell asleep in blissful exhaustion. What lucky devils they were.

Friday, 26 Sept. 2008

Jules had not been able to sleep all night, lay awake for a long time and soon did not know how to bed his body. That's why he had gotten up and gone down to the gym, where he pedalled his heart out on the exercise bike for half an hour. Then he rushed into the shower, set the tap to ice cold and turned it all the way up. At first, he could hardly breathe, so much did the hard jet maltreat him, simply took his breath away. After a while, he switched to warm and reduced the amount of water, stretched out his arms and ed himself with his hands on the tiled wall, letting the water splash on his neck and his thoughts run free. Afterwards, he couldn't how long he had stood in the shower. At some point he had dried himself off, put on a pair of light training pants and gone upstairs to the living room, sat down on the sofa.

Since then, he had been staring out of the window, down at the fog-shrouded Lake Geneva, which slowly began to break free from its white blanket with the rising sun. Only a phone call from Henry Huxley had awakened him from his stupor for a short time. After that, he surrendered to him again.

Jules felt so infinitely tired and powerless, lying more than sitting, feeling his cramped neck muscles that would soon give him a headache. His lack of energy was surely also a consequence of the copious amounts of thirty-year-old Dalmore, which had been a reliable friend to him all evening and half the night. The previously almost full bottle now stood empty next to the glass on the table and yet he had been unable to find any sleep in the abandoned marital bed.

His thoughts formed only slowly and were all as dull as the misty start of the day outside, where real life took place.

Was there consciousness after death?

Jules hoped so for all those who had already died and believed in it. For how unspeakably sad a life would be if one had spent years and decades chasing a dream that ultimately proved to be a pure illusion?

He himself did not like to believe in an existence after death. He rejected the doctrine of grace of Augustine as well as Julian's replies. Both placed the fate of mankind in the hands of an inscrutable God, who supposedly held all the strings in his hand, but did not want to pull them.

But eternal life or rebirth were at least sparks of hope for all those who had had to leave behind unfulfilled desires, unfinished tasks, or bad transgressions.

Eternal life?

Rebirth?

Could one seriously believe in something so absurd?

Even as a teenager, it had seemed cowardly to him to deny his own mortality to himself, to indulge in religion for this reason and thus celebrate a kind of consistent, lifelong self-deception. For Jules, belief in a time after death had always been merely a sedative pill for his own nerves, to dampen an alert and

adult mind. Speculating on something that could not be grasped with the mind could simply not be the right way.

But was understanding the only thing in life?

When pain raged inside, a person could hardly defend himself against it. Especially not if, like Jules, he welcomed the pain.

For Jules, the pressure in his heart, the slackness in his stomach, the confusion in his brain meant redemption from his own failure, a penance in the face of his hated fate.

Finally, he pulled himself together, dragged himself into the kitchen, took one of the always-warmed espresso cups from the hotplate of the coffee machine, placed it under the spout and pressed the right button. The harsh crackle in the grinder stabbed into his head, stirring up memories there, images of splintering bones and crushed limbs. The bus crash in Ecuador, the woman next to him whose chest was impaled by the broken branch through the shattered window. The bubbling of the black liquid that poured into the cup, first with a strong stream, shortly afterwards already lighter and then dripping foamy, reminded him of the gurgling rattle of the girl in the row of seats in front of him, whose head had been almost completely severed by the same branch.

Jules wiped away the dark memories and downed the espresso in one go, despite its heat, pleasantly burning his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He felt the pain in the most pleasant way, lured it further and deeper into his brain, always hoping to finally drive away the other, much deeper-seated pain, this insidious source of all his torment, this one and true devil that was constantly lying in wait somewhere inside him, ready to jump out again at any time and rob him of all positive sensations or suck them out, in this way deviating even the very last will

to live into nowhere.

Should he perhaps take the boat out on the lake again today? All he had to do was put on his jacket and shoes, walk down the long stairs to the jetty, untie the lines, and step on the gas.

But what for?

As an escape from the truth? Just to delude themselves even longer? Just to avoid having to face the facts? At some point he would have to return, to this house that was no longer a home, back to the once familiar life in which so much was going wrong, to an existence that he would have preferred to strip away and throw away. But for this one step he would have had to summon up enough strength, a certain amount of energy. And he no longer felt that in himself.

Jules slowly walked back into the living room, sat down on the same spot of the couch as before. The leather still felt warm. To his left lay the mobile phone he had used to talk to Henry on the phone. What had they been talking about? He no longer knew.

In the meantime, the sun had been able to dispel the last dreariness of the fog and now flooded the lake with gold, had taken it over completely and made the water glisten seductively.

Yes, it would be glorious to bounce over the flat waves in the Jeanneau Leader, driven by three hundred horsepower. Every tap of the throttle would be gleefully taken up by the engine and converted into power and thrust. The cooling wind would whip his face, make his eyes water and his mouth gleam. The steering

wheel would vibrate and transmit a tingling tremor to his hands and arms. Above him would be nothing but the clear, blue, endless sky as he chased over the water.

Yes, that would have been just the thing to finally wipe away all his gloomy thoughts. It would have been the right thing to do if he hadn't been all alone in the process.

2005, in winter

Jules was staying at The Montague again this time, had once more climbed through the cellars into the rented flat, disguised himself there and met Henry at Liverpool Station. Again, the MI6 man was to sit in the third cubicle from the right and Jules again whistled The Rain in Spain before slipping the one hundred thousand pounds demanded this time under the wall to him. The current record of a telephone conversation was to be even more explosive than the first. At least according to this Muller.

"Yes, sir, it's all set," Jules heard the CIA agent's unmistakable raspy, almost sing-song Texan voice from the earlier conversation with Waffle.

"Yes, we had already brought Burt Rosenbaum into the bank as a client advisor in 1997, as agreed with the IRS. Over the last eight years, he has ensured that the bank has greatly increased its off-shore business with US citizens, and in the process is likely to violate the QI Agreement in several respects. Rosenbaum's main victim is a Florida businessman, Andrei Lokoviev, owner of several real estate companies here in the US. Lokoviev has good s in Iran and we assume most of his capital also comes from Iranian investors."

"Drug money?" another voice could now be heard, a somewhat nasal, unaccented English, as it was spoken mainly in the north-east of the USA.

"No, unfortunately there is no drug money among them, we have already checked that thoroughly. It's exclusively petrodollars from some mullahs that were smuggled past the state treasury. Lokoviev has fortunately turned out to be

particularly greedy, so Rosenbaum had little trouble inducing him to set up an unlawful construct of companies and foundations in the Bahamas and Liechtenstein. Once we drag him into court with our evidence, he is in our hands and will have to play along."

"And what happens next?" asked the nasal voice, which probably came from the Great Lakes region, Detroit or Chicago. It had an unpleasant sounding timbre with a slight buzz and squeak. Jules imagined an older, rather stubborn and above all opinionated owner.

"Rosenbaum has in the meantime resigned from the bank as we had planned and has already provided us with a lot of useful material. The tax authorities are currently working on the indictment against Lokoviev. They will probably be able to take him to court as early as six months from now. However, as agreed with the IRS, the proceedings will be dragged out until we have made further progress with the destabilisation of the bank. According to the Fed, the real estate bubble will burst within the next two years and the bank will then come under sufficient financial pressure. The IRS will offer Lokoviev a deal to plead guilty to tax evasion and testify fully against the bank and its advisers. We will let him off lightly, but the bank will come under heavy fire. Rosenbaum himself will be arrested as agreed with him. He will then play the key witness in court and heavily incriminate his former employer with all the details. If you then, sir, initiate the necessary steps at the political level as well, so that the State Department does not get in our way, the pressure on the Swiss government and its authorities will be too strong. Then they will have to give up their banking secrecy."

Jules felt a chill run down his spine. The voice said exactly what he himself had long feared.

The nasal voice spoke up again: "Yes, this time we will definitely break open this damned money fortress. After all, the IRS had already prepared the

battlefield in 1996 with the new double taxation agreement, following my intervention. The idiots from Switzerland haven't even noticed the rubber paragraph we smuggled in. Tax fraud and the like, a glorious trap we let them fall into to finally crack their ridiculous bank client secrecy. The US courts have no choice but to interpret this expression in our sense. And after we also created the Qualified Intermediary in 2001 with additional grey areas for what may well be legally permissible tax avoidance thanks to constructions of companies and foundations, the perfect trap was completely set up. Their agents at the various banks merely exploited our supposedly overlooked legal loopholes consistently for their clients, creating a monster of total legal uncertainty along with other douchebags at the bank. Once we have the biggest of these banks down, the rest will fall into our hands like ripe fruit. Everything is going according to plan and I really don't see any reason why the seed shouldn't sprout sometime soon. You'll still keep me informed?"

"Yes, sir, of course."

"One more thing. They mentioned a Burt Rosenbaum as one of their agents who they smuggled into the banks as an investment advisor. Is this the same Rosenbaum who was involved in the Kenya deal?"

"With Kenya, sir?"

The Texan's voice now sounded a little tense and lurking. It did not seem to please the man that the nasal on the phone also knew about this CIA transaction.

"I mean your overpriced arms supplies to the government of Kenya, with which the Agency procured the necessary capital for the destabilisation of South Africa. Of course, as usual, completely bying Congress and the government."

The voice from Detroit or Chicago pronounced the last words almost mockingly. The Texan on the other side answered only hesitantly.

"It is a matter of national security, sir, that we regain the upper hand in South Africa. After the Soviets were able to subvert the country and the government and now the Chinese are trying to inherit the Russians, we simply had to act. After all, if the Chinese were to succeed in controlling the Cape region politically, they would also control shipping around the whole of Africa. And if you add their growing influence in the Arab world and East Africa, then..."

"I know all that, man," the nasal voice sounded annoyed as it interrupted the Texan's torrent of words, "that's why we didn't take action against you when we found out about this special CIA project. But I want to know if it is the same agent. So?"

"Yes, it's the same Burt Rosenbaum."

"But why? Didn't you have anyone else to hand? Surely the guy could come across as completely untrustworthy in front of the judges. Surely the bank's defence will raise all these black points at a trial to make the witness appear untrustworthy?"

"Don't worry, sir. The IRS has already thought of that, too. We will file two cases against the bank, one in Florida, where we will arrest Rosenbaum, the other in New York. In both states, the federal judges are firmly on our side. They will not allow any such charges to be brought against the witness Rosenbaum. We have also been in preliminary talks with the leading media in the US and the UK for a long time, so that the trial will not receive any side blows from that side later on

either."

"But will that be enough? Journalists sell their souls for a good story and newspapers live on headlines," the nasal revealed his concerns.

"If everything goes as we expect, there will be no court cases at all, sir. The Swiss government will certainly cave in quickly and not risk a criminal case against the big bank."

"I have that hope too. But what if it is?"

"The threat of a criminal trial alone would certainly destroy the company. And if we then let it slip that we already have others of their banks in our grasp and that they too will be pulled into the same vortex, the Swiss government can only resign."

The Nasal seemed to be thinking.

"I agree with them if you really have enough ammunition against the other banks. I don't want to repeat the washout with the disappeared Jewish money when the Swiss banks were able to escape responsibility by a penalty. But are the Swiss authorities aware of the implications? It certainly can't hurt if you work on them a little in advance. But there is still time for that. Don't rush into anything. We'll hear from each other."

The connection was cut and the tape turned off. Jules pulled off the headset, slid

it over to the MI6 man's booth.

So that was the explanation for Waffle's blackmail. It was not primarily about financial damage to the bank. Rather, the Americans wanted to crack bank client confidentiality in Switzerland. The IRS and individual congressmen, together with the CIA, had infiltrated a few of the banks with agents. These agents offered wealthy Americans possible tax loopholes based on the agreements between the USA and Switzerland. But these loopholes were only valid as long as the American judicial practice did not reach through foreign companies and foundations, as was the case until now. But with this expression tax fraud and the like, Pandora's box was opened. As soon as the US courts changed their practice and no longer regarded foreign constructions of companies and foundations as legal entities in their own right, but as mere tax evasion vehicles, all legal uncertainty came to an end and all the solutions for avoiding taxes collapsed as legally untenable. But because the banks' balance sheet totals exceeded Switzerland's gross national product several times over, the Americans already got their hands on the government with the threat of a criminal lawsuit. The economic consequences of a bankruptcy of one of the big banks would be devastating for the economy and the population. And it would hardly remain with this first victim, because the banks were financially intertwined and CIA agents had also committed similar crimes at other banks. The Federal Council and parliament would do everything to avert this danger.

Next door, the toilet was flushed, then the MI6 man left his cabin, washed his hands, and left the washroom a little later. Jules, however, was still sitting on his bowl and thinking hard about what to do now. The first thing he had to do was to find out whether this telephone conversation was real and had taken place in this way. At best, it was a fake.

*

"Hi, Toni, Jules here. I just wanted to tell you that I left a new message for you. Please see what you can do for me on this matter. Thank you and ciao."

Jules had left a message on the answering machine of his good friend Toni Scapia. He was an Italian-American who lived most of the year alternately in Florida and California. Jules had met him a few years ago at a convention of Freemasons in Washington. Toni was intelligent and smart. He had a considerable fortune, which his parents had already signed over to him during his lifetime.

To the outside world, Toni Scapia led the luxurious life of a playboy. But he was by no means that. He invested successfully in the stock market and also ran a few bars and discos between Miami and Washington. Toni was one of the handful of people Jules trusted. They all kept largely out of the public eye and were financially independent at the same time. You couldn't bribe such people with money or prestige, and their loyalty to the Masonic Lodge was circumferential and unassailable.

Jules had already been able to provide his acquaintance in Florida with important information from Europe and Russia twice. Once, however, Toni also ed him in Project 32, which Jules had been leading for almost five years on behalf of the United Grand Lodge in London. At the time, the American was able to put Jules in touch with two natural scientists and a historian from the Sacramento area. They fitted wonderfully into his North American team and proved to be a valuable help in solving the ancient mysteries.

For their confidential communication, Jules and Toni used the electronic system of a major Swiss bank. Jules had opened an there and got two small calculators with cards for electronic access. One for Toni Scapia. Access was via the internet. One called up the bank's page in one's browser and entered the contract number of the there. A six-digit numerical code appeared, which you had to type into your calculator. The numerical code was an

algorithm of the number and the current time. The calculator, which was specially made for this calculation, displayed an eight-digit code of letters and numbers on its screen because of the inserted chip card and thanks to the stored encryption software. This code was typed into the browser window. If this code matched the one that the bank computer calculated in the same way, one had successfully logged into the system and could carry out all bank transactions and also write messages.

Jules had filed his message to Toni in the notes section of his . Toni Scapia, after listening to his answering machine, would dial in and read it in the same way in the next few hours.

The risk of discovery by any secret service was zero with this method. The bank guaranteed an extremely high level of data security. And the fact that exactly this data stream from the bank's computer to Toni Scapia's screen was accidentally intercepted by the NSA and painstakingly decrypted was actually out of the question, given the trillions of daily accesses on the internet.

Once Toni had read Jules' questions, he would certainly take care of answering them immediately. The Swiss was sure of that.

Tuesday, 24 June 2008

"The whole thing is really weird."

Chufu bent over the barrier and stared at the pale face of the Russian revolutionary leader.

"Lenin is also a wonderful example of how little a state respects the will of its citizens when it suits it. During his lifetime, Lenin had decreed that no cult should arise around his person after his death. His wife had therefore expressly spoken out against the embalming of his corpse. But Stalin, the ruler at the time, did not care. He had Lenin's body preserved and then exhibited it publicly. Stalin himself also wanted to be embalmed and laid out next to Lenin after his death. But after a few years, Khrushchev had the body of probably the greatest abomination in modern Russian history removed from the memorial hall and buried. Lenin, on the other hand, still lies here, which at least proves that even after Stalin's death no government of the Soviet Union or of today's Russia could muster enough humanity to put an end to this macabre display of their father of the country."

"The guidebook says that Lenin gets a new suit and tie every three years," Alabima spoke up, looking more at the book than at the dead man.

Chufu looked at the waxy corpse even more closely, squinted his eyes in return and now seemed to have discovered something of interest in her. Suddenly he exclaimed rather loudly: "Uihh. Have you seen his fingertips yet? They've got mould on them."

Alabima looked up from the book and in turn took a closer look, saw the blackened areas on the dead man's waxy hand and quickly turned away from him.

"Well, at least he looks a lot better than the Egyptian mummies in Cairo," she said quietly, at the same time pulling her shoulders up in a shiver. She was visibly uncomfortable in this place. In fact, she had been ever since they had walked past all the armed soldiers and penetrated into this former inner sanctum of the Soviet empire.

"Can't you boys finally tear yourselves away from the dead man? I shudder in Lenin's dead company," she ended her adopted son's sensationalism and also immediately strode energetically towards the exit with Alina in her arms. Jules and Chufu ed them and they left the mausoleum. Outside, Alexei and Alexandr were waiting for them. They should have deposited their weapons at the entrance to the memorial hall. But since there was no danger for the Swiss family anyway, with all the guards inside, they refrained from accompanying them.

"And how did you like it, Chufu?" the younger twin wanted to know curiously.

"I'll just say one word about that: the embalming is really gross, Sascha."

Alexandr looked at him in amazement.

"He is the creator of the Soviet Union, the father of today's Russia," he tried to

offer a plausible explanation for the display, but immediately received a sharp retort from the boy: "And that is why, eighty years after his death, he still has to be shown to all the world? Even though he has already developed mould. Where is the inviolability of human dignity? Hasn't Russia also signed the UN Convention on Human Rights? How can you still act so inhumanely?"

Alexandr looked at his brother for help.

"Lenin is an extremely important symbol of cohesion in our country, even today, after the enlightened perestroika. He doesn't feel anything either, after his death. And no matter what religion you belong to, Chufu, the corpse itself is completely irrelevant in any case. The Parsis in India, for example, still lay their dead in specially built towers, where their soft parts are eaten by vultures and ravens. The Hindus, on the other hand, burn the bodies of the dead, scattering the ashes in the Ganges. Christians, Muslims, and Jews, on the other hand, prefer to let the worms have their way. Seen in this light, it doesn't hardly matter what happens to the body after death. And when I think of the German Gunther von Hagens and his Body Worlds, I think we bring our Lenin across in a directly sympathetic way."

Alexei smiles apologetically at his last words. Even Chufu had to grin at the last comparison with von Hagens disemboweled bodies. But you could see that the boy was still full of argument and was therefore thinking of a suitable answer. Before he could reply, however, Alabima spoke up.

"Enough body-snatching, you men. Let's finally go to the Kremlin. I really want to take a look at the three big cathedrals before we then visit St Basil's as the final point out here. It should be the crowning glory of our sightseeing tour this morning. Because at half past twelve, a masseuse and a beautician are waiting for me and Alina at the hotel. So, vamos, gentlemen, get moving."

Once again, Alabima managed to set a new goal for the group within a few seconds and make them forget the previous verbal battles. Somehow in a happy mood, they left Red Square in the direction of the Kremlin.

*

Alexei had stayed with Alabima and Alina at the hotel while Alexandr explored the Moscow metro lines with Jules and Chufu.

"I've been to a few cities on the underground, but this beats everything," Chufu soon remarked iringly, "just look at this great station. Spacious, clean to the point of being licked and very well organised. When you see this, it's hard to believe that the Soviet Union could go under. Your Dostoevsky must have been mistaken about the Russian soul after all."

"You must be talking about The Idiot?" asked Alexandr, interested and curious at the same time.

"Of course, Sasha. I mean the age at the beginning of the book about the steamship company in Russia. As a reader, you get the feeling that in those few sentences the author has aptly described the entire Russian istrative soul, indeed the entire lethargic people. Here, however, one is taught otherwise."

"You actually study Dostoyevsky at school?" the twin asked.

"Forced to. But I read The Idiot voluntarily," Chufu proudly announced, "though mainly because of the description of the condemned man on his way to the scaffold. It's so cool."

This seemed to have become one of his favourite expressions, this fully crass, of course, pronounced in German and first of all with a Turkish accent and all this also embedded in his otherwise English flow of speech. Chufu was undoubtedly gifted in languages, as Alabima and Jules had quickly discovered, and so the two of them had ensured from the start that the boy received his private school lessons in three languages.

"I would be burningly interested in one thing," interjected Alexandr, who was increasingly thawing towards them, "if I may ask you both?"

He looked expectantly at father and adopted son.

"You can ask us anything as long as you don't shy away from the answer, Sascha," Jules returned with a smile. Being on a first-name basis with the family from Switzerland visibly did the twin protectors good and made them more open.

"How did you actually come to have your patchwork family? Patchwork is the right term for your kind of family, isn't it?"

Jules grinned and then looked at Chufu questioningly: "Do you want to explain it to him? Yes? But the short version please."

The Filipino nodded and collected himself briefly. Then he started: "I work on a tanker. That's where I meet this man. Man saves me when tanker sinks. Man meets Labi in Ethiopia. They get married. They adopt me. They have a daughter. End of story."

Alexandr looked at the boy somewhat helplessly, unable to make much headway with this brief summary of events. Jules therefore tried a kind of supplement: "Chufu was a kitchen boy on a tanker called Daisy at the time. I was a private investigator there and had been brought in as a cook. When we were shipwrecked, we both disembarked together. We had become so used to each other that we decided to stay together. And after the wedding with Labi, it was clear that we would adopt Chufu."

That didn't sound convincing or even explanatory either, but Alexandr was satisfied.

"Yes, life often goes strange ways," he summarised his rather vague impressions.

At half past three they were to meet Alabima, Alina and Aleksej at the hotel. Time for them to board the next train at Komsomolskaya for the return journey.

*

"Well, you three? Did you have a good time too?"

Jules' wife sat relaxed on one of the sofas in the foyer of the hotel and gazed at them enterprisingly, while Alexei squatted tensely in an armchair opposite her and Alina balanced precariously on his right knee. He held the girl with both hands carefully clasped around her torso as if she were a delicate Meissen porcelain doll and extremely fragile.

"You really must visit some of the metro stations with us in the next few days, Labi," Chufu spoke up. He had quickly got used to Alabima's Russian short name, "especially Arbatskaya, Komsomoloskaya and then of course Mayakovskaya. If you whisper something under a certain ceiling arch there, you can still hear it at the other end of the hall."

"Very harmful to clandestine lovers and extremely useful for all kinds of espionage," Alabima joked back with little interest, "do you want to freshen up in your rooms or can we start right away?"

After a sideways glance at Chufu and Alexandr, Jules answered for all three of them: "We're ready to go. Shall we go to the zoo now or have you changed your mind?"

"No, after the stone deserts of this morning, I want to go to the countryside, either to Gorki Park or to the zoo. But I'm happy to leave the choice to you."

"Wait a minute," her son spoke up, once again in German, before continuing in English, "I really want to go to Gorky Park, maybe tomorrow or the day after, depending on the weather. But with enough time and not just for two hours in the afternoon. Jules still owes me a couple of fast roller coaster rides. At Euro Disney he chickened out at Space Mountain. At Gorky Park he has to accompany me."

"That's nothing for an old man anymore," Jules tried a weak retort, to which Chufu merely shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

"All right then, it's decided," Alabima took charge again, "up men, off to the zoo."

*

They had indeed visited the sables first, even though Alabima could only shake his head at Jules' stubbornness.

"Ira hasn't been able to convince me of fur jackets or fur coats either. You don't have to worry, darling. Your bank will not be burdened by animal hair clothing in the future either."

The caged animals were running around quite excitedly in their enclosure. It seemed as if they knew no rest whatsoever.

"It's mating season," Chufu announced. He stood in front of the display case with the information and read some of the ages aloud.

"The implantation of the fertilised eggs is delayed by many months, so that the females do not give birth until April or May, after only one month of gestation."

"Thank you, dear Professor Grzimek," Jules answered him dryly.

"What does that mean again?" was Chufu's suspicious question.

"Oh, you can't know that. You're much too young for that. Bernhard Grzimek was one of the most famous German zoologists in the 1960s and 1970s when I was a child. His animal films and information programmes were on state television at the time."

"Man, you're already that old? That's awesome," came back the almost expected comment from his adopted son.

"The old man is about to kick your butt," Jules returned with mock annoyance.

"You'd better show me what you've got tomorrow or the day after on the roller coaster in Gorki Park," he replied glibly.

"Oh, you have no idea, dear son. Come to New York with me first. Because the first thing I'm going to do there is drag you onto the Cyclone, just for three laps. Then you'll know what a real roller coaster is. All the modern things in these newfangled and well-behaved amusement parks of today, with their gentle curves and smooth ride, are just something for wimps and sissies. Real men, on the other hand, take on the Cyclone."

Alabima looked at Jules reprovingly, fearing the next verbal confrontation between male parent and teenager. But Chufu did not let himself be provoked this time, on the contrary. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, but also with arrogance: "Cyclone? Do you mean the roller coaster at Coney Island? I read about it on the internet and saw a few pictures. It's already over eighty years old, almost as old as you are."

Jules did not respond to the provocation this time, instead smiling at him maliciously, almost diabolically.

"Yes, the old girl is getting on a bit, you're certainly right. But once you have paid the entrance fee and walked through the narrow wire mesh corridors onto the platform, then stand expectantly on the wooden planks and wait for the next arriving train with the few little wagons, yes, then you get a first impression of this monster. Because when one of these bullets thunders past on the siding behind you, making an infernal noise and causing the ground on which you are standing to shake, then you feel for the first time what kind of vicious beast is lurking there and wants to devour you. When you sit down in one of the uncomfortable carriages, preferably in the last one, at the back of the queue, the pressure in your stomach increases with every second. Because the trolley seems much too short and too narrow for your legs and you have to really squeeze into it. And the cushion on your thighs, which is supposed to prevent you from falling out, seems much too small and, above all, much too deep. You distrust this construction from the beginning, you don't believe that it will be able to hold you in the curves later on. Perhaps at this moment you think for the first time that your decision to ride on the old girl was not such a good idea after all. But then the train jolts so hard that it hits you in the back. Very slowly you are pulled up the long ramp. From the outside, it looked cute and short, but now, strangely enough, it doesn't want to end. Once you reach the top, the wagons in front of you topple away one by one, disappearing behind the rail curve and out of your field of vision as if a giant were swallowing them. But immediately afterwards, your wagon is also at the top and you cast a curious or even fearful glance downwards, but you don't see any continuation of the track there. The tracks also seem overhanging to you, simply disappearing into the abyss in front of you. But already there is a strong pull on the wagon that pulls it and you straight down

through this steep wall that seems vertical to you. For you don't even see where you are falling, you only feel your upper body being lifted out of the wagon and pulled forward and down with all your might, held only by that ridiculously narrow cushion on your thighs that you can't trust. But before your first scream of terror has died away, you are crushed hard in the bend of the rail below. Painfully, the force throws you back into your seat and your buttocks and back hit hard as your car races up the next steep ramp. There follows the first steep curve, which bends sharply to the right. She tries to break your spine for good. You continue to scream from pain, from fear, from what else might be lurking ahead. Only at this moment have you really understood what a real roller coaster is, namely a monster of iron that wants to break and tear you apart. I promise you this, Chufu. Three short rides on that old monster and a headache will plague you for the rest of the. For your neck muscles have cramped hopelessly due to the strong centrifugal forces, causing a constant buzzing head."

"Uiiih, that sounds exactly like my father's son's taste," Chufu interjected with shining eyes, "why the hell haven't we been to New York already, Julja?"

"It'll come. I promise. Maybe in the autumn? Then Labi can go to Sak's and buy a new winter wardrobe while we men go out and explore the Big Apple."

They walked along the large lake and looked for a free park bench, which turned out to be a difficult task given the beautiful weather and the many local visitors. Hundreds of women pushed prams, whole packs of children besieged the few seats.

Aleksej and Alexandr kept fifteen, twenty metres behind them the whole time. They did not want to disturb the family idyll, as they had explained to them, before dropping back a little.

"There's a kiosk up ahead. Does anyone fancy an ice cream?" Alabima cheerfully announced.

It was to be their last words for a long time, for at that moment four masked men armed with short rifles rushed out of the bushes and went for the family. Chufu, who was closest to them, received a hard butt blow to the stomach cavity. He immediately buckled and fell to the ground, doubled over with a cry of pain. Jules was shouting in Russian, "We are unarmed. We do not fight back."

One of the attackers strode towards him without a word, raised his rifle and brought the butt down on Jules' head, breaking through his arms raised for cover and hitting him in the middle of the forehead. The Swiss lost consciousness.

*

When he regained consciousness, it could only have been a few seconds, he was first aware of Chufu's moaning. Jules sat up and held his aching head. He heard all the sounds as if through cotton wool and his vision was still veiled, clearing only after a few seconds of supreme distress. Alabima was lying on the ground only three steps away from him, obviously unconscious but whimpering softly. Two steps beside him he recognised the hunched back of Chufu, who held his arms pressed in front of his abdomen. But there was no trace of Alina, who had been carried in Alabima's arms and fed a bottle at the time of the attack. The bottle with the dummy lay broken next to his wife, as did the soft cloth with which she kept wiping her daughter's lips.

Jules turned his head around with difficulty but could not see his daughter anywhere there either. Chufu was trying to sit up while Jules crawled on all fours

over to his wife. She had a severe bruise on her temple. Underneath, a large bump was already bulging and growing. Otherwise, however, she seemed unharmed, for she was breathing regularly despite whimpering. Chufu turned slowly towards them, moaning, and looked at Jules with a face distorted by pain.

"What was that?" he pressed out between his teeth, "who was that?"

"I have no idea," Jules gave him an honest answer.

"And where is Alina?"

Chufu had also noticed the girl's absence.

"I don't know. She's gone."

Some zoo visitors had stopped at a cautious distance from the family, staring over at them in fear. They seemed shocked by the attack and undecided whether to approach to help or whether there was still a danger of being drawn into this violence. A whistle now sounded from somewhere. It was probably calling the zoo staff together.

Jules looked back along the path where their two bodyguards had just been walking behind them. Alexandr lay sprawled on the ground, Alexei crouched beside him with a bleeding forehead wound. He had pulled his brother's upper body onto his thigh, held him in his arms and seemed to be talking to him. The two bodyguards must have been surprised as well as they were, perhaps by a

second group of attackers.

Finally, zoo staff and a few braver visitors came over to them from three sides. One was talking into a radio the whole time, hopefully alerting the ambulance. They were approached anxiously by the men and women and Jules readily gave information about the attack. A short time later, horns of ambulances could be heard and before they knew it, a car stopped near them, a second one near Alexei and Alexandr. Men in white coats got out, unfolded a rollaway bed next to Alabima, lifted her up, pushed her into the car, while Chufu and Jules got in themselves, unassisted, and took a seat on the low bench. At high speed they were driven away.

*

They had been separated from each other in the entrance area of the hospital's emergency room. A young doctor examined Jules superficially, checked him for broken bones and did a few attention exercises with him. Only then did he treat the laceration on his head, which had long since stopped bleeding. Jules stoically endured all this but kept asking the doctor questions about Alabima and Chufu. Of course, he didn't know any satisfactory answers and put him off until later.

The emergency ward was one big room, almost a hall, where the individual treatment beds were separated from each other by curtains. At least fifty injured people could be treated here at the same time. It had to be one of the large hospitals in the city.

When the doctor had treated Jules' wound, he let him lead him to his wife. She was lying four curtains away. Jules knelt down beside the narrow bed and took

Alabima's right hand in his and began to stroke it gently. His wife had not yet regained consciousness. But her pale face lay relaxed on the thin pillow and she breathed calmly, as if in deep sleep.

"How bad is she?" he asked his doctor worriedly. He shrugged his shoulders and said: "I'll ask my colleague" and left.

"It's going to be all right, darling," Jules whispered to his wife, "it's going to be all right."

She showed no reaction at all. It was as if he had spoken to a dead person. But the slowly and evenly rising and falling chest showed Jules that he probably had nothing to worry about immediately.

"A concussion and some abrasions on the hands and arms. Otherwise, there were no injuries. Your wife will soon regain consciousness," the returning doctor summarised the information received.

"And when will that be?"

"It's not possible to say exactly. But I think in one, two hours at the most."

"Thank God," Chufu reported from the hallway. He had probably recognised Jules' voice and had gone in search of him. Jules took him in his arms and they remained wordless for two or three seconds, feeling closer to each other than ever before.

"How are you?"

"Only a stomach contusion from the butt of the rifle. But probably no other internal injuries, the doctor said. And you?"

"Nothing but a buzzing head."

"And Alina?"

"She has disappeared and remains disappeared."

"What were those gangsters?"

"I have no idea, really I don't, Chufu. I didn't even lose my wallet. My best guess is the Russian mafia. Quite possibly they had the Meridien under surveillance and recognised us as rich Europeans. At least I hope so."

"You hope so?"

Chufu no longer understood the world.

"Yes, I hope it's the mafia. They're only after a big ransom and we'll get Alina back safe and sound after a short time."

Somehow Jules knew that his assumption could hardly be correct. Normal criminals wouldn't normally mess with two bodyguards over the kidnapping of a toddler. And there was no way they would have carried out the robbery in such a busy place as the zoo. The risk was out of proportion to the blackmailable sum. But what else was he supposed to suspect and tell his son?

They were taken from the emergency room to a hospital room. Jules insisted that they all be put together. He wanted to be with Alabima at all costs when she woke up and realised that Alina had disappeared. They ended up in the general ward in a room of five, but there were no other patients in it.

Barely a few minutes in the ward, there was a short, sharp knock on her room door. A man of perhaps fifty with dark, strangely piercing eyes, a broad moustache, and a nose far too short entered and introduced himself as an inspector from the Russian criminal police. He spoke reasonable English and took Jules' and Chufu's statements about the robbery, asking additional questions. His routine but impersonal, often even sloppy way of speaking was unpleasantly noticeable. To him, they were just a couple of foreigners and therefore meaningless. At the end of the conversation (or was it rather an interrogation?), the man found a few comforting words, but made no attempt to inspire confidence in the local police work. Everything humanly possible would be done to track down the perpetrators and free the abducted girl.

"How did the bandits escape from the zoo?", Jules asked him.

"We don't know yet," was the policeman's reply, "in any case they haven't disappeared through any of the official exits."

"Do you have any guesses as to who kidnapped our daughter?", Jules now asked him in Russian so that Chufu could not understand the inspector's answer.

"I don't know. Robberies of tourists are more common. Not coupled with kidnappings, though, but more as a raid. Aren't you missing anything?"

"You mean apart from my daughter?" replied Jules irritably, "no, nothing else is missing. They certainly weren't normal robbers."

The behaviour of this policeman made him increasingly angry. Alina could hardly expect help from officers of this kind.

After half an hour, all the questions had been answered and the inspector folded up the writing pad with a small smile and put it together with the biros into one of the inside pockets of his jacket. He had done his duty and was pleased with himself. He left with a muttered greeting without any sympathy.

"What are the chances of the police succeeding?"

Chufu relied on Jules' judgement.

"It depends on the political connections of the kidnappers. If it is a small, independent gang, not only the police will act, but possibly also the established gangs. They might help find a kidnapped girl from Western Europe to get rid of

the new competition or to ingratiate themselves with the authorities. One hand washes the other. However, if the kidnappers belong to the regular mafia, the police will hardly do anything and will certainly not find out anything. In that case, we will receive a ransom demand, pay it, and then hopefully get Alina back in good health. You know, Chufu, kidnappings are an almost normal industry in many regions of the former Soviet empire. They have often been part of the living culture of some tribes for centuries and the inhabitants find nothing at all wrong with it, especially if some money is extorted from strangers. Such gangs work professionally and have no interest in making unnecessary headlines with dead victims. That might also have been the reason why they only kidnapped Alina and none of the rest of us. Because we could possibly identify the kidnappers later or give the police useful clues to their whereabouts. Alina can't do all that. That's why her chance of survival is particularly high."

"And what do we do until we hear from the kidnappers? If the police don't do anything, shouldn't we at least do something for Alina?"

"For now, we wait until the ransom demand arrives. More important is how we break it to Alabima as gently as possible that Alina has been kidnapped. That's all we can do for now."

"And what about Sasha and Alyosha?"

"No idea. But Sasha seems to have been seriously injured, because he was lifted into the ambulance on a stretcher, as was Alabima, while Alyosha got in under his own power. That much I could observe before our ambulance left. I'll ask the ward nurse about them right away," Jules promised him.

He pressed the bell above one of the beds and explained to the entering nurse in Russian what he wanted her to find out. She promised to go to the emergency

room and report back. But no sooner had she left than there was a knock on the door and Alexei hesitantly entered.

"How are you?" he wanted to know sympathetically as he peered anxiously over at the bed of the still sleeping Alabima, looking guilty.

"Stomach contusion," Chufu reported.

"Concussions for me and Alabima and a few minor bruises. We all got off lightly."

"And Alina?"

Alexei's voice sounded occupied, as if he were ashamed of the answer.

"She must have been kidnapped."

"How is Sascha?", Chufu interjected worriedly. He had become quite good friends with the younger of the twins in the last few hours. They had almost become like brothers in the short time.

Alexei stared at the ground in front of him with a blank expression. Then he softly pressed out between his lips, "Saschinka is dead," and after a short while he added in a murmur, "we were surrounded by three armed men and had no

chance to fight back from the start. But when we realised that a second group was coming at you, we took up arms anyway. I was hit from behind with a rifle barrel. They shot Sasha."

Chufu looked at the Russian bodyguard in dismay and bewilderment. Then his boyish face contorted and his eyes filled with tears. Jules reached out his hand to Alexei but pulled him close with the other and hugged him warmly and for a long time.

"We are all deeply and immensely sorry about this, Alyosha."

Alexei's upper body jerked in Jules' arms and he stammered softly and in Russian "that's the risk in our profession, Julja."

Only then did he also let his tears run free.

Alabima sighed and began to stir. Alexei quickly wiped his eyes dry and the three of them stepped over to the bedside. When his partner opened her eyes, Jules gently took her hand and stroked her forearm with the other.

"What happened?" she asked, stammering, her face contorted with flashing pain.

"We were attacked by unknown persons. You have a slight concussion, but no other injuries. Chufu and I are also doing reasonably well."

Alabima propped herself up on her forearms, pushing her upper body up from the mattress, and looked around the room, blinking.

"Where is Alina?"

Her question sounded sharp, frightened, and anxious at the same time. She lingered uncomfortably in the room for a few seconds before Jules answered quietly.

"Alina has been kidnapped."

Alabima closed her eyes briefly, seemed to squeeze her eyelids shut with all her might, as if that might have dulled the rising pain in her chest.

"Oh, Jules," she said with a sigh, looking at him with exasperation but also accusation.

"I'm sure she's fine. The kidnappers surely just want to extort a ransom. I'm sure we'll get our daughter back unharmed in a few hours or days. Trust me, Alabima."

"Trust you?"

Bitterness was evident in the voice of the woman he loved above all else, "Trust

you? After you led us here to this terrible country? Out of the safety of Switzerland to such a dangerous place? You ask too much of me, Jules."

With these words she withdrew her hand from him, turned away from them all and buried her face in her hands. The sobs and the shaking of her shoulders told them that she was crying without restraint.

Alexei and Chufu stood around unsure, not knowing how to react to Alabima's hopelessness and accusation.

"Why don't you go to the cafeteria or the restaurant for a drink and leave us alone for a few minutes," Jules offered them both a way out. They nodded gratefully and left the room relieved. Jules sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked his wife's back and neck.

"Millions of tourists, you said, Jules. And it hits us of all people? Can that still be a coincidence?"

"It certainly wasn't a coincidence. The guys must have spied on us in the hotel as worthwhile victims. We shouldn't have taken the presidential suite or asked Vladimir for at least three or four extra protectors. But a kidnapping like this, in daylight and in the middle of the Zoological Gardens? No one could have expected that."

"But it happened, Jules."

Alabima's tearful voice expressed her painfully felt powerlessness.

"With a little luck, we will get our daughter back unharmed. Kidnappings are nothing unusual in Russia, you know. This kind of business has been conducted very professionally since the time of the tsars. There are rarely any serious injuries or even deaths. If the Russian mafia is behind it, we simply pay the ransom demanded and get our daughter back safe and sound soon afterwards."

"What if it's not the mafia? What if someone wants to take revenge on you?"

The regained firmness in Alabima's voice showed Jules that his wife was now ready to fight for their daughter.

"If they had wanted to take revenge on me, all four of us would probably be dead by now. You saw the attackers too, Alabima. They were heavily armed and could have easily shot us down from a greater distance. No, it cannot be an act of revenge."

"Have the kidnappers ed you yet?"

"No, not yet. But that's hardly to be expected here in the hospital. How would they know where we've been taken? The kidnappers will surely send their message to the Meridien."

"What are we still doing here?"

Alabima sat up with a jerk, then brought her hands to her skull and the flaring headache with a groan, but shortly afterwards vehemently pushed Jules off the mattress to make room for herself to get up.

"Yes, you are right, Alabima. If you feel strong enough, we'll get dressed and go back to the hotel."

Alabima sat down on the edge of the bed, got up carefully and walked over to the wardrobe with slightly swaying steps. She opened it, found her clothes, quickly slipped out of her hospital gown, and put them on. Jules rang for the nurse and told her that they wanted to be discharged and that she should please inform the ward doctor. The latter came to them shortly afterwards, wanting to convince them to stay at least one night for observation. He spoke English so that Alabima could understand his words. She answered him shaking her head.

"Our daughter has been kidnapped. Do you understand? The criminals will try to us at the hotel. That's why we have to get there as soon as possible. Can you please have a taxi called for us?"

The doctor left them to issue the discharge papers, as he promised. Taxis, on the other hand, should always be found outside the hospital. Jules, meanwhile, went downstairs and into the cafeteria, told Chufu and Aleksej that they were leaving in a few minutes, which the two visibly welcomed.

It became a more than wordless drive back to the Meridien. Alabima hung her thoughts on the enger seat while the three men sat squeezed in the back of the car, staring straight ahead in silence.

*

The mantel clock chimed quietly nine times. Still no ransom demand had arrived from the kidnappers. Alabima had been pacing around the living room of the suite for three hours. Jules had explained to her that the criminal investigation department had long since been called in and would do everything in their power. His wife stopped short after his words, fixed her husband disdainfully and then snorted contemptuously: "What do you think the police are worth in a country where people can be kidnapped from a busy zoo in broad daylight? Just promise me one thing, Jules. If the kidnappers come forward, don't involve the police. We'll do exactly what the gangsters want us to do. We won't take any risks, promise me that."

"Of course, Alabima, no police. We will get Alina back safe and sound. I'm sure we will."

That had been more than an hour ago.

Aleksej had gone down with Chufu to eat something in one of the restaurants. Alabima and Jules were not hungry. Jules had already called the Sokolows shortly after their return to the Meridien and described the robbery. Their Russian friends were dismayed and Vladimir immediately promised to do everything he could to get the authorities in Moscow to use all their resources. He wanted to call the Minister of the Interior and the Moscow police chief directly and give them a leg up. He also offered to provide more of his bodyguards for them and, of course, to pay any ransom. Jules gratefully declined the latter two.

The death of his bodyguard Alexandr, on the other hand, did not seem to affect Vladimir. For the oligarch, his bodyguards were merely well-paid employees who knew the risks of their profession and had to bear the possible consequences. That seemed to be the end of the matter for him, because he did not even inquire about the dead man's brother.

Finally, Chufu and Alexei came back from dinner.

"Has anything new come up?" her son asked hopefully.

"No. The inspector who was with us at the hospital called us a quarter of an hour ago. He said they would now systematically visit all known offenders, question them in detail and if any of them couldn't show an alibi for the time of the robbery, they would be placed under arrest and interrogated. The Sokolows must be putting quite a lot of pressure on the authorities."

"And there's really nothing we can do but wait?" Chufu's voice betrayed his youthful impatience, but also a right portion of resignation, "at least you two, Jules and Alyosha, you must finally do something yourselves to save Alina. You can't just sit here and twiddle your thumbs, can you?"

Inwardly, Jules had long since decided to act. For he felt a growing paralysis with every hour that ed. It not only affected Alabima, but also him, and made him nervous and impatient. But to rebel against fate and do something about it, he probably needed that extra push from Chufu. In any case, Jules looked at Alexei sharply and appraisingly with newly awakened eyes and asked him directly: "How well do you know Moscow, Alyosha? I've only been here twice in the last eight years as a visitor for a few days, so I don't really

understand the city and its people anymore."

"I know some of the underworld bosses, at least know where they have their headquarters and points, if that's what you mean. But somehow this kidnapping doesn't fit ordinary crooks if I may say so. I don't know, Julja, something's mighty fishy here. And the more I think about it, the more I'm sure that it can't be a normal kidnapping. Otherwise, they would have ed you by now. With every hour that es, the danger increases that the police will find clues and track them down."

Jules nodded at his words. He had come to the same conclusion in the meantime.

"Do you know any human traffickers?"

His question was meant to sound as trivial as possible, but Alabima immediately startled and looked at her husband in dismay.

"What do you mean by human traffickers? There's no slavery in Russia anymore, is there?"

"No, no, calm down, darling. I wasn't thinking of slavery, but rather of kidnapping ... for other purposes."

"What other purposes?"

His wife's voice showed him that she was demanding the truth from him.

"Adoption trade ... or ...", Jules cleared his throat and then fell silent.

"An illegal adoption? Of a mixed race coloured child? Here in Moscow?"

Of course, this thought was quite nonsense, Jules knew that too, but it was the most bearable thing he could think of to the horrible alternative.

"Oh," his wife's eyes suddenly widened in horror as she came across the ghastly possibility herself, "you don't mean Alina was stolen from us by a gang dealing in organs, I hope?"

In reply, Jules just shrugged helplessly. But Alabima immediately shook her head in denial: "No, Jules, that makes no sense. How could the kidnappers have found out the blood group and other important data for a transplant? How could they have known whether Alina was even suitable as a donor? And you can't really believe in coincidence, can you? There were hundreds of women with small children in the zoo. We would hardly have been attacked, a group with three adult men, two of them obviously bodyguards. No, Jules, neither adoption nor organ trafficking are really plausible."

"But human trafficking is our only angle at the moment, as long as the kidnappers don't report to us," Jules interjected with little hope in his voice, "so, Alyosha, how about it, do you know anything about kidnapping and trafficking infants here in Moscow?"

The Russian thought for a moment, then nodded cautiously.

"At least I know someone at the criminal investigation department who deals with kidnappings and abductions. I'll give him a call right away. Maybe he can help us.

He first called the police headquarters, asked for the commissioner's private number in the name and on behalf of Vladimir Sokolow, then talked to the man on the phone for more than ten minutes, making notes on a piece of paper. After disconnecting the call, he looked apologetically at the Lederers, who had been watching him intently the whole time.

"The only thing he could give me were the addresses of two couples. They were convicted a few years ago of kidnapping infants for the purpose of illegal adoption and then spent a long time in prison but are now at liberty again. But in their previous crimes, they had always posed as hospital employees. This is how they got into the infant wards without any violence and stole the children there. An armed robbery, on the other hand, does not fit with people of this calibre and Inspector Yukon cannot make sense of it either, he also believes most likely in an extortion of ransom money."

"You may be right, but we should still go and see those two couples. It's still better than sitting around here doing nothing."

Jules had finally made up his mind.

"Alabima, you please stay here at the hotel with Chufu and call us on my mobile in case the kidnappers us or anything else comes up."

His wife nodded, but it was obvious to the boy that he did not like having to stay here in the hotel. But he did not protest. Chufu was sensitive enough to sense how much Alabima needed a confidant around her, a friend with whom she could wait for a call or a letter from the kidnappers. Alexei and Jules said goodbye to the two and left the suite.

As they walked side by side down the corridor to the lifts, Alexei briefly opened his leather jacket and pulled out of his waistband a 9 mm Makarov PM, a pistol similar to the German Walter PP.

"Here, Julja. It was Sasha's."

Jules took it wordlessly and tucked it into the front of his tros, pulling the zip of his jacket up to the middle.

*

Ullieschin was written on the small sign next to the doorbell. The flat had to be on the sixth floor of the tall apartment building. Aleksej pressed a button that belonged to a flat four floors above. After a short time, a voice came on the loudspeaker.

"Yes?"

"This is the immigration office. A Chechen family without a residence permit for Moscow is said to be living above their flat. Please open the front door so we can enter."

After two seconds, the opener buzzed and Jules pushed open the glass door.

"Thank you," Aleksej reported to the unknown resident again and added before following Jules, "please stay in your flat. For your own safety, do not go into the corridor and do not open the flat door. We do not know if the family we are looking for is dangerous. As soon as the check is completed, we will get back to you."

They took one of the lifts but got off already on the fourth floor and walked the rest up the staircase. Somehow Jules was curious to see how Aleksej wanted to gain access to the flat of the suspected couple. Would he also pose as a policeman here?

There were half a dozen flat doors on each floor. When they had left the stairwell on the sixth floor, they searched the nameplates and found Ullieschin at the very end of the corridor. Aleksej took two steps back and then threw himself vehemently and with great force against the door leaf with his shoulder, thus blowing the lock out of the frame and pulling his gun out of the holster under his left arm, stumbled down the short corridor to the back room of the flat, from which the flickering light of a television could be seen. Before the surprised Jules could follow him, Aleksej had already disappeared into the room and called out in Russian: "On the floor. Both of you. Now," and after two seconds a little more quietly, "that's it."

Jules reached the end of the corridor and looked into a simply furnished living room. Two people were lying on their stomachs on the floor with their hands

stretched out far away from them. Alexei stood over them, holding his gun with his left hand and thoroughly scanning the people's clothes with his right.

"Secured," he reported to Jules in best SpezNas fashion, then added urgently, "have you searched the other rooms yet?"

Jules winced. Of course, the couple didn't have to be alone in the flat. He quickly stepped out of the room and opened the three other doors in the hallway one after the other. One went into the dark kitchen, the second into a tiny bathroom, the third into the single, narrow bedroom. He switched on the overhead light everywhere but found them all empty. In the hallway, three of the neighbouring doors were now ajar and pairs of anxious eyes peered cautiously over at him.

"It's all right, police," he said to them loudly and in Russian, "please keep quiet and close your doors."

He pulled the damaged door leaf, which hung crookedly on its hinges, back in front of the opening as best he could, then returned to the living room.

"It's all right. There's no one else here."

Alexei relaxed noticeably, sat down on the wooden armrest of one of the two shabby upholstered chairs, a model from the sixties. In general, the whole flat looked poor, mostly furnished with damaged, often only makeshift repaired cupboards, tables, or carpets. With this rather bleak sight, Jules no longer expected any useful clues about Alina's abduction. It was impossible that these people could have anything to do with it. But for the time being, Alexei remained undeterred.

"Grigory Stepanovich Ullieshin? You are accused of being involved in the systematic abduction of young children. Make a statement!"

The Russian's emotionally cold voice in the still dark room, lit only by the flicker of the black-and-white television set, which bathed people's faces in a grey, eerie light and made them look sickly, sent a shiver down even Jules' spine. The former SpezNas agent must have seemed like an avenging angel to the elderly couple, as sudden and violent as he had come upon them.

"We didn't do anything," came the halting and unconvincing reply from the mouth of the man of about fifty, who had turned his face towards his tormentor and was looking up at him from anxious, constantly wandering eyes.

"We know you're involved, Ullieshin," Alexei continued to bluff, "but you and your wife are outrageously lucky, because you're just small fry we're not really interested in. We want to get to the masterminds, the people behind it. If you tell us everything you know, we won't charge you, even if you already have a criminal record. Make up your mind. Because if you still have nothing to tell us, we will take you and your wife to the station and detain you first. One of the other suspects on our list will certainly talk to us and play the witness. We know many more child abductors working in the same network. The first one to talk will be the only one to get away without punishment. You have a choice. Make up your mind."

Ullieschin turned his head towards his wife and held a silent dialogue with her. She briefly closed her eyelids as a sign of her approval. Jules, meanwhile, had long wondered why Alexei was wasting his time with these obvious hobby human traffickers.

"We stole and delivered only one child, only one," the man on the floor gasped out, full of fear, "we desperately needed money. Since we were released from prison, Liena and I have not been able to find jobs. Nobody employs former child traffickers. For a few months we managed to get by with odd jobs. But now we lack everything. And then this man approached us and offered us to work for him. We had to resume our earlier thefts for him. For six thousand roubles per child, six thousand roubles! What would you have done in our place?"

The man ended in resignation, looking pleadingly at Alexei. But he continued to look down at the two criminals with a cold expression and said only one word.

"Next".

"We had to steal the child in the Filatov within two days. And it could also only be a few weeks old. Those were the conditions."

"At the Filatov?", Alexei's interest seemed piqued, "and in which department there?"

"In psychiatry."

Jules, but also Alyosha were confused.

Someone hired child thieves to steal a probably mentally handicapped baby. That could only be a bad joke. However, Alexei probed further: "And where did you take the child?"

"If I tell you, my wife and I are dead. It was only one baby. And it was definitely handicapped, with its hydrocephalus. But the men we took it to are evil, really evil. They demanded that we get them more children, even mentally healthy ones. But we didn't do that, I swear. We don't work for such bad people. But if they find out that we talked to you, they will kill us. For sure. They're dangerous."

The man looked like a downright coward, but Jules still believed every word he said. You could tell the couple were filled with fear at the thought of their clients. Alexei and Jules looked at each other. Even if the child abduction in the Filatov could have nothing to do with Alina, they still wanted to know more about it.

Jules turned to the two lying on the ground.

"You should give us the address of your clients and also tell us everything about what you saw and experienced there. Otherwise, we will arrest you, lock you up and put you on trial. And this time, because of your criminal record, you will certainly get life in prison. Your only chance to get off lightly again is if we can arrest your employers and thus get to those behind it. Take this chance, Ullieschin, it's your last."

"It's an apartment building on Ulitsa Talalikhina. The number is 35. The people live on the fourth floor. There is no name on the doorbell, just the flat number. 403. When we dropped the child off, there were three men and a woman there. The leader and the woman seemed to be a couple, both in their mid-thirties. The other two men were younger, perhaps in their early twenties. All four of them were armed, though, and one of them kept threatening us with his gun the whole time."

The words had just spilled out of the woman's mouth.

"Did they see any other children?"

"From the next room we heard the crying of a baby."

The husband did not want to be behind his wife at all.

"Of two babies," she quickly corrected him, however.

"Yes, from two children," he confirmed.

"And when was that? When did you deliver the abducted child there?"

"Ten days ago."

"And you have had no since then?"

"Yes, we do. The day before yesterday, one of the two young men, the blondhaired one, came to our flat door and ordered us to get another child from the Filatov, but this time from the General Department. He gave us two weeks for

the order. But we told him that we would not do it again. Then he laughed and threatened us. Since then, we have been living in fear. But what can we do? We can't leave Moscow without money. It's all so pointless."

"Should you deliver the second child to the same address?", Aleksej wanted to know.

"Yes."

Jules and Alyosha looked at each other. They had heard enough.

"Don't worry. When we have finished with the four criminals, you will certainly have nothing more to fear from them. Thank you for your valuable assistance in our investigation. We will neither arrest you nor charge you. You may later receive an invitation from the public prosecutor's office and have to testify as a witness in court. But all that will have to be found out. You may stand."

Groaning, the couple rose, standing before them like watered poodles. There was nothing of rebelliousness or even of anger, qualities that real criminals exuded in every situation in life. They were two broken, lost people who knew no way out. Jules pulled out his wallet and handed the stunned woman a few hundred roubles.

"For the damage we did to your flat door," he said, stuffing the notes into her apathetically outstretched hand.

Jules despised the two Ullieschins for their actions. To attack defenceless children and babies was one of the most horrible things humans were capable of. But this failed couple, whose dreams had long since dissolved into the darkness and filth of the crimes they had committed, was too pathetic not to touch his heart.

They left the child abductors' flat and took the lift to the ground floor.

Jules had rented a Range Rover for their excursions in Moscow. It had been left behind in the car park of the zoo after the robbery and he and Alexei had had to take a taxi from the hotel to pick it up. When they were back in the car and had driven off, a conversation started again between the two previously silent men.

"Must have been a blowout."

Alexei's voice expressed genuine sadness.

"What did your colleague from the police tell you all about the Ullieschins?" asked Jules thoughtfully.

"They were exposed as of a baby kidnapping ring about six years ago. They were then sentenced to eight years in prison but released after five for proper conduct."

Another question preoccupied Jules far more: "What do you mean? Why would someone let a mentally handicapped child steal?"

"If it is a gang of professional facilitators for illegal adoptions, then it could well be a kidnapping for hire. One exchanges a baby, that may have to lie in another clinic for some time as a premature birth, with a handicapped child."

"But for what purpose?"

"What do I know? As revenge among hostile competitors, perhaps?"

Jules nodded: "That would be more than ugly, but conceivable, I agree."

"And what do we do now? Should we go to the second address I got from the commissioner?"

"I don't think this is going to get us anywhere anymore, Alyosha. No, the kidnapping of Alina can hardly be connected to these simple thefts of babies from hospitals."

Alexei shrugged his shoulders.

"So back to the hotel?"

Jules did not answer immediately, seemed thoughtful.

"What do you think? Should we visit this flat number 403 instead and root out the gang there? Even if it doesn't help Alina, at least we'd have done something against those bastards."

"If you like, Julja? I'm in."

Aleksej steered the Range Rover unerringly into Ulitsa Talalikhina. They found a parking space close to the designated house, got out and walked back to the 35. On the doorbell, as described by the Ullieshins, there was no name, only the flat number.

"And how do you want to go about it this time?", Jules asked his partner.

"Four armed opponents are definitely too many for a surprise coup at the front door."

"I think so too," Jules confirmed to him.

"But I have another idea. But first we have to get into the apartment building without causing a stir.

It was shortly before midnight and there were no lights on in most of the flats. Only on the second floor were some windows brightly lit, and some were open. Quite loud music and the laughter of a party permeated the street.

"I'm sure they'll let us in without asking," Aleksej said and pressed the four bell buttons to the second floor of the building, long and persistently. After a few seconds, a voice answered, the commotion of the party audible in the background.

"Yes?"

"We are from the Public Order Office. You have been reported for noise nuisance by your neighbours. Please open the front door so we can talk to you."

On the other side it remained silent for a moment, then the buzzer went and Aleksej and Jules entered. Now sleepy, questioning voices also came over the loudspeaker from the other three flats. But Aleksej and Jules refrained from answering.

In the stairwell, they saw from the light shining from the second floor that one of the flat doors was open. Aleksej called up reassuringly: "Everything is all right. We have now heard for ourselves that you are not so loud with your party. No offence for the disturbance. It was probably just the envy of a neighbour. Please continue to celebrate undisturbed."

With that, he went back to the entrance door, opened it briefly and then pushed it back into its lock with force, so that this would definitely be heard on the second floor. Upstairs, the light disappeared after a few seconds. The people must have been happy to have escaped so lightly.

Alexei and Jules grinned at each other.

"There's a lot to be said for the Soviet period, Alyosha."

"Yes, most people are still in bondage to the authorities and do not dare to contradict them when you are a public official. We have Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin to thank for that. He skilfully keeps up the pressure on the population, despite glasnost and perestroika."

"So where do we go from here, Alyosha?"

"Come with me to the basement. We need a few things from there."

They broke open one of the basement compartments and took out some old clothes and two bottles of cleaning products containing alcohol. They put the clothes on a pile on the ground floor and dumped the chemicals on top.

"A little fire will drive the rats out of the burrow and all we have to do is collect them," the Russian said grimly. Jules watched fascinated as Alexei lit the pile of material. Together with the rapidly growing clouds of smoke, the two men climbed the staircase. From the second floor, they began to shout loudly and in Russian: "Fire! Fire in the house! There is a fire! Everything out! Quick!"

After only a few seconds, the first flat doors opened. People rushed out and pushed past them downstairs as soon as the smoke stung their noses. Some were scantily clad, in a nightgown or shorts, confused from sleep or an alcoholic

stupor.

The two partners reached the fourth floor and were standing in front of the flat door to number 403 when it was ripped open. One after the other, four people rushed out and tried to get past them to the stairs. Aleksej and Jules had long since drawn their weapons and were now hitting the heads of the child traffickers hard and without mercy. Other residents, who came running out of their flats just like the four of them or rushed down the stairs from above, gawked at them stupidly with wide eyes for a second of shock, but then rushed on and down the steps without a word, not looking back. Not even curiosity could suppress their instinct to flee from a threatening conflagration.

Aleksej and Jules grabbed the unconscious men under the armpits and dragged them one after the other back into the hallway of flat 403 and from there on into a rather spacious living room, certainly the largest room. Unlike most of the residents in the house, the four were fully dressed. Either they were asleep in their clothes or they hadn't even gone to bed yet.

Jules closed the front door and switched on the ceiling light in the hallway and living room. Aleksej disappeared briefly into the bathroom and returned with a few towels, which they tore into strips. They bound and gagged the still unconscious, but they began to stir. A minute later the three men and the woman were tied up.

From up the street, excited voices came through an open window. Then they heard the sound of sirens approaching.

"Police and fire brigade," announced Alexei.

"And how long do you estimate we have left?" asked Jules back.

"I think ten minutes, then the fire brigade put out the small fire downstairs and secured the building. Another ten minutes until the police have been able to get an overview and have interviewed the first witnesses outside. And another five to ten minutes until they will search the house and knock on every flat door."

"Twenty to thirty minutes then? Good, let's get to work."

They decided to question the woman first. Aleksej had wet a towel in the sink and slapped it rudely on the face of the slim, well-trained-looking woman. She had rather harsh features, came to quickly and looked at him not at all fearful, but belligerent and angry. She immediately began to tug at her bonds while uttering inarticulate curses, hindered by the gag in her mouth.

"Stop that," she was snapped at by Alexei, "or I'll punch you in the face."

His rudeness had an effect. The woman immediately lay still but looked around the room. When she spotted Jules, she flinched noticeably. Her reaction had not escaped Aleksej's notice. He immediately grabbed the young woman by the front of her thin jacket and pulled her upper body up a little with a hard grip so that her face remained close to his.

"You know this man?"

The woman shook her head in the negative, whereupon Alexei slapped her once

hard across the face with the back of his hand.

"You know this man?"

Again, she shook her head wildly, which was followed by a resounding slap, this time delivered with the palm of his hand. The woman's head was literally thrown to the side and a bright red mark showed where Alexei had hit hard.

"The next lie and I'll take my fist and break your nose," he threatened her. Then he repeated his question. The woman had long since seen her three flatmates lying tied up next to her. She could not expect any help from them. She gave up her resistance, as it seemed, and this time nodded in reply.

"Finally. We're making progress. I'm going to take your gag off now. If you scream, you'll lose your teeth."

Alexei unbuttoned the towel strip and the young woman actually lay still, even though she stared at him hatefully.

"How do you know this man?"

Once more she looked for help at the three men on the ground. She weighed up what chances they still had. But it was obvious that Alexei's brutal behaviour had already broken her resistance. She licked her split lower lip, which was bleeding a little, but then looked at her tormentor again appraisingly and with little fear. Jules got the impression that this was not the first time this young woman had

been subjected to harsh interrogation. She was hardly a normal criminal, more an agent on the loose, similar to the twins who had left the civil service and taken the more lucrative private employment with the Sokolows. Either the young woman knew such situations from her training days or from an industrial accident during one of her assignments. Ordinary gangsters could not face situations in which they were completely at the mercy of their opponents in such a cold-blooded manner.

The woman recognised nothing but implacable hardness in Alexei's eyes. Her body tension, hitherto kept very tight, fell away from her. She had given up.

"He and his family were the target."

Jules winced violently at the word target because it became completely clear to him that these four could not be ordinary human traffickers or even organ hunters. And Alexei also reacted immediately to her statement.

"Target? Who are you working for? Who are you?"

The woman realised that she had made an unnecessary mistake and that the two intruders knew much less than she had thought. Therefore, she shook her head again in denial. Aleksej then searched the pockets of her clothes, found a small wallet, opened it, and then whistled softly through his teeth.

"Her name is Adriana Viktaravich Chekov and she works for the FSB."

"What, for domestic intelligence?"

Jules could not believe it.

"Yes. She actually works for the government. Probably the other three too, right?"

The woman did not respond to his question. Instead, Jules stepped closer and knelt down next to the woman, bending his head down to her.

"Where is my daughter?" he asked her insistently.

"Brought way."

"Where?"

"I can't tell you that. It's better to leave it at that. It's wiser for you and your family, believe me. You don't stand a chance against the FSB."

She uttered these sentences coldly and completely hardened. She had to know a lot about Jules and his environment and therefore had little concern for her health or even for her life. What did this Western European and the Russian bodyguard want to do against the all-powerful state authority of her country?

Alexei could see that Jules was on the verge of losing it. His daughter had been kidnapped, her life perhaps threatened, and this woman probably held the key to Alina in her hand, didn't want to give it away.

Aleksej spoke calmly to Jules: "Please go and search the other rooms, Julja. See if there are any children here. In the meantime, I will have a more detailed talk with the woman here. She will certainly tell me everything we need to know."

Jules quivered inwardly with pent-up rage. He would have liked to beat out of this woman and the three men everything they knew about Alina and her whereabouts. For a moment he imagined putting his hands around the young woman's disgustingly thin neck and squeezing hard and long. Reluctantly, therefore, the Swiss got up and, after a moment's hesitation, left the living room. He realised that he had to get a grip on his feelings before he could take part in any meaningful questioning. As he left the room, however, the woman jerked upright and stared after him a little helplessly. It did not suit her that she was now alone with Alexei. She certainly thought her compatriot was a lot more brutal than the man from Western Europe.

Jules went through one room after another, looking everywhere thoroughly. In one of them there were three cots, each with an infant lying in it. They seemed to be fine and slept peacefully despite the noise they had made earlier in the stairwell. As he crossed the hall to the kitchen, he heard a heavy gasp from the living room. This was followed by a low moan that grew in painful grating until Aleksej's hand was probably placed over her mouth to stop a possible scream.

Jules finished his tour of the five rooms in the large flat and returned to Alexei. The Swiss had largely calmed down and finally felt in the necessary condition to interrogate the woman together with Alexei. But when he stepped into the living room, the latter was just rising from his crouching position, a bloody dripping

knife in his hand. The woman's eyes stared brokenly at the ceiling. Jules was startled for a moment, but then stepped closer, bent down to her, and squeezed her eyelids shut.

"Was that really necessary?"

Alexei just nodded silently. Then he stepped up to the three men, who had all woken up by now and were staring at him from fearful eyes. Despite the gags in their mouths, they tried to scream. But it became only a suppressed growl. Alexei knelt down at the first, raised his knife and then, driven by an inner, icecold rage, plunged it with all his might into the chest of the bound man, right through the breastbone and straight into the heart. Blood spurted from the wound as he pulled the knife out. He paid no attention but moved mechanically like a robot to the next man, knelt by him too and repeated his gruesome deed. Then he went over to the third, raised the knife, stabbed. It was a cold-blooded, quadruple killing, a vicious act of revenge, a slaughter of the completely defenceless. Nevertheless, Jules did not stop the bodyguard from his gruesome work. The four of them were not only involved in Alina's abduction. They were certainly also among the murderers of Sascha. They were also collaborators of the allpowerful state apparatus. Jules was aware that no prosecutor in Russia would indict their actions and no court would punish them. Vigilante justice was the only way for Alexei to experience some kind of satisfaction for his brother's murder.

When the gruesome work was finished and none of the four FSB agents were alive anymore, Aleksej had wiped his knife on his last victim's tros as if in a trance and put it back in his pocket, he remained standing indecisively over the four corpses, as if his batteries had now finally run out and his ts were blocked with them. Jules stepped over to the dead, looked for FSB IDs on each of them as well, and found them on all three. He stood up and reached for Alexei's upper arm, tugging gently.

"We have to go, Alyosha."

Willingly, the Russian let him lead him into the hallway. Jules closed the door to the flat behind them and together they slowly went down the stairs. In the entrance hall they met some firemen and two policemen. They stood around the quickly extinguished pile of clothes, somewhat perplexed, and discussed with each other.

"Who are you? Where are you from?" they were snapped at by one of the police officers. Aleksej flashed one of the FSB ID cards briefly. Then he said condescendingly to the policeman, "There are four bodies in flat 403. Please inform the criminal investigation department. It seems to be a settlement among different gangs of human traffickers."

"You will also find three abducted infants alive in the flat who need to be taken care of. Please call an ambulance," Jules added.

The two policemen first looked at them sceptically, even incredulously, then one of them hurried to use his radio to inform headquarters accordingly, to call for an ambulance and the criminal police. Alexei and Jules nodded to the men and left the apartment building without hurrying, got to their car unmolested, got in and drove off slowly. Aleksej peered in the rear-view mirror and then said, "Unfortunately, one of the policemen took down our number plate."

Jules didn't go into it for the moment, but asked Alexei: "The woman had only recognised me, but not you. Why is that?"

"She was probably not present at the robbery but was waiting in the flat.

However, she saw your photos beforehand, which they had been given to identify the targets. But there must have been other FSB people involved in the raid at the zoo. I counted seven in total."

"How soon will the criminal investigation department find out the identity of the four dead?"

"We have taken away their identity cards and the FSB agents are not listed in any available to the police officer. But it is possible that the dead will be quickly identified anyway because they are missing from their colleagues or their employer. And since the police have our registration number and the car was officially hired through you, they will surely track us down and question us at some point soon."

"Yes, that is likely. But we will definitely have a few hours, maybe even two or three days, before they can get at us."

"And by then we will have long since left Moscow."

Jules looked at Alexei questioningly.

"The woman could not tell me the name of her person. They had each called a mobile phone number. One man had picked up. They just reported to him how many children were to be picked up and some guy then came by a few hours later. But the FSB agents probably wanted to cover their asses and got the address through which the mobile phone subscription runs. It's in Saint Petersburg."

Saturday, 6 Sept. 2008

It was his family doctor Robert who had given him the idea: "Why don't you visit the children's home in Lausanne? It will certainly do you good to finally have a child around you again, to occupy yourself with him or play with him."

At first Jules had resisted this advice. Surely a grown man does not go to a home to spend time with children who are complete strangers to him. Anyone would immediately suspect a perverted paedophile behind this request.

But surprisingly, this was not the case.

His call was forwarded to the director of the children's home, a Dr Monique Jaccard. She must have been psychologically well trained, because very quickly Jules found himself involved in a friendly and yet determined conversation. Only after a while did he realise that he had started telling his life story to this strange woman on the phone. And he even felt good about it. Because the longer he talked to her about Alabima and Alina, the lighter his heart became. This woman doctor had also listened very carefully, because after a few counter-questions they had already reached what the most important point was probably.

"And what do you yourself think, Mr. Lederer? Why would you like to meet with our children and young people?"

He didn't know how to say it, at least didn't really know at the time. But after some hesitation, he said into the telephone receiver: "I can no longer be to my

little daughter what I so much want to be. That's why I want to dedicate some of my time to other children, children who have been cheated by fate of a caring parental home and thus of part of their young lives."

Dr Jaccard immediately invited him for the afternoon and Jules did indeed go, albeit with a rather queasy feeling in his stomach. But at the same time, he felt he had to take this step. His constant mourning for the lost family inevitably led him into a dead end from which escape became more unlikely the longer it lasted.

There were two narrow parking spaces in front of the entrance to the large building with the park behind it. They were marked Visiteur and Jules parked his Maserati in one of them. They seemed to suit the establishment. The low demand for visitor parking showed the exceedingly harsh reality in which orphans and difficult youths grew up. There was no one who came to visit them regularly, who dropped off presents at Christmas or on their birthdays, who invited them on an outing or otherwise regularly broke the familiar and habitual rut in a state institute.

Jules breathed a sigh of relief after these thoughts. He would certainly not run into any competition with other guests for the children's favour here, did not have to stand up to anyone or even try to outdo them. Suddenly the pressure in his stomach that he had felt since he had grabbed the leather jacket in the hallway and put it on was gone. He rang the bell at the high and wide entrance gate, feeling a strangely light, almost joyful feeling in his chest.

An older man with a bald forehead and rimless glasses opened the door. His pale eyes looked sullen, as if Jules had interrupted him in some important work. He wore brown Manchester tros and a dark blue wool jumper without sleeves, with a striped shirt underneath. His clothes looked utilitarian, comfortable, clean, and decidedly boring. Jules involuntarily wondered when he had last seen someone in Manchester tros. It had to be many months ago.

"Yes, please?"

The man's question sounded like an accusation. A Cerberus at the entrance to hell, Jules thought abruptly and had to smile without meaning to. He must be suspicious of every new soul at first, whether it wanted to get in or out.

"I have an appointment with Dr Jaccard. My name is Jules Lederer."

"So? Wait a moment, I'll ask."

The door was slammed in his face and Jules heard footsteps shuffling quietly away.

The man had worn dark brown leather slippers and thick, dark green woollen socks. But on this early autumn day, the thermometer had risen to around twenty degrees. Were children and young people allowed to be entrusted to such people at all? His protective instinct kicked in vehemently. What would the head doctor be like if the door opener were so old-fashioned? Or was Monique Jaccard more of a psychologist?

Jules counted the seconds in his mind. At thirty-five, the clatter of ladies' shoes approached and at forty, the thick door leaf was heaved open. A pretty woman in her mid-thirties stood in front of him, smiled winningly at him and at the same time held out her right hand: "Good afternoon, Mr Lederer, Monique Jaccard. Nice of you to be so punctual."

She led him straight into her office and told him to take a seat on the narrow sofa.

"A glass of mineral water?"

Her voice sounded melodic and matched her still girlish face perfectly. Her body was a little chubby and she was just under one sixty-five, but she radiated a tremendous energy, a power and dynamism that immediately took hold of everyone, drawing them in and pulling them along.

"Gladly."

She had already grabbed the bottle of Henniez green from her desk and turned over two waiting glasses on the table in front of the sofa, pouring them full while looking at him briefly and appraisingly, even inquiringly, every now and then. Or was that more the scientist in her, looking at a lab rat? Jules began to feel a little more uncomfortable again.

"We don't get too many visits here. Except from couples wanting to adopt, I mean."

"To be honest, I don't know if it was such a good idea to come here," Jules replied somewhat meekly.

"That will soon become apparent," she judged rather harshly at his ice-breaking answer, "but before I introduce you to our children, I must explain a few rules of conduct. As you explained to me on the phone, you live alone in your house in La Tour-de-Peilz?"

"Yes."

"This makes my question regarding possible adoption superfluous, because we only place with married couples in intact marriages."

Jules nodded like a guilt-ridden offender in front of the judge, looked saddened for a moment.

"You must know, however, that our children immediately regard everyone who enters through our door as a potential new parent. The younger ones then often do everything to please that person. They hope to find a family quickly in this way. The young people, on the other hand, have given up this wish and therefore usually behave stubbornly, almost stubbornly or even angrily. They have known for a long time that they are too old for adoption and will hardly find a foster family. They have resigned themselves to not getting out of here until they are of age."

"I can certainly understand that. But I do have one question, Dr Jaccard. Are you actually trying to scare me with your statements?"

Jules smiled charmingly at his question, whereupon the woman's lips also stretched wide. She suddenly looked at him with a radiant smile, but then said with girlish cunning: "Scare you? No. But my children will certainly teach you

fear. The best thing is to introduce you as a new friend of our house, as a kind of patron. In any case, you should behave completely naturally towards the children, regardless of whether they approach you or reject you at first. Can you perhaps do anything special that goes down well with children?"

Jules thought for a moment.

"Maybe tell stories?"

"Yes, that could be a good start for you. Let's try it that way."

With that, she got up and preceded him down the hall to the back of the large house. Together they entered a room whose door and three windows were open to the garden. Three boys were playing with building blocks on the floor, had probably built castles and were fighting each other with their plastic play figures. Jules spotted an all-red Indian who was at that moment hitting a Playmobil cowboy with his plastic tomahawk, who of course had little chance of defending himself successfully against this attack with his lasso. However, he still seemed to be defending himself well, as Jules could tell from the sounds and shouts of the little fighter.

In a corner of the room, two girls were sitting together combing the hair of their dolls. The two looked over at them curiously and attentively, having stopped in the middle of their movements. It almost seemed to him that they held their breath at the sight of him.

Shouts sounded in from the garden outside. It was mostly loud and playful children shouting, with instructions from probably older youths in between. A

wild ball game seemed to be going on there.

The three boys had also turned towards them in the meantime and were staring at Jules with equally wide eyes, just like the two girls in the corner.

"Hello everyone," Dr Jaccard began loudly so that the others in the garden could hear, "this is Jules. He is a new friend and will be spending this afternoon with us. Jules knows many exciting stories, he told me earlier, and one of them he wants to tell you today."

The five children were still looking at the new adult with wonder and enquiry. They were probably trying to fit the strange man into their previous orphan world but could not. But they put their toys on their sides as if on command and slid on their bottoms across the floor near him, remaining seated in a semicircle around him expectantly.

Dr Jaccard briefly put her right hand on Jules' forearm and said: "Would you like to sit down with them, Jules? I'll see if anyone else is interested in your story," and with these words she stepped to the outside door and called out into the garden: "Hello, children, haven't you heard? Jules came by this afternoon. He's about to tell one of his famous stories. If anyone wants to listen, please come in."

Smiling, she turned to Jules and the small children on the floor and then walked straight out of the room without another word, leaving him alone with the five. They still hadn't spoken a word, just stared at him full of expectation. Jules estimated the girls at five to six, the boys at seven or eight, and breathed a sigh of relief. A little fairy tale lesson was probably in order, perhaps something by the Brothers Grimm, a not too bloodthirsty story that was preferably not too well-known. He thought for a moment and then decided on Jorinde and Joringe.

At that moment, however, two more girls entered from outside. The two of them were clearly on the cusp of becoming teenagers. And at two of the windows, four more faces now appeared, all of them much older teenagers, probably between fourteen and sixteen years old. They looked at the strange visitor, waiting, but without any real interest in their faces, rather almost contemptuously.

Jules now felt a little queasy. These young people were clearly too old for a simple fairy tale.

"What would you like to hear?" he tried to play the ball to his audience to buy some time.

"Definitely a good story," volunteered one of the older girls at the door.

"Something with a lot of action," added one at the window.

"And definitely not some boring kid stuff," added a maybe fourteen-year-old with long blonde braids and a hard demanding voice.

The three clearly oldest youths, all boys around sixteen, looked at Jules with a sneer. They had little confidence in this visitor, who seemed boring at first glance, and had probably long since started thinking about how they could most efficiently stop him and make the afternoon as entertaining as possible for them.

Jules once again looked doubtfully at the five little children in front of him. There was still a tense expectation on their faces, a vague anticipation of what the stranger was about to tell them.

For heaven's sake, this must be a nice flop, Jules thought to himself, I need a story for children aged five to sixteen now. Dr Jaccard has some nerve. What have I got myself into?

In a first wave of panic, he wanted to get up and leave without a word. Escape was probably the only chance of survival here. Or should he simply concentrate on the younger ones and in return endure the mockery and contempt of the older ones? He was still hesitating over his decision, but the thoughts were racing in his head. Was there no honourable way out? Then he ed the novel idea of a writer friend. David had discussed the concept of an exciting youth story with him more than a year ago but had so far failed to realise it. Yes, that was something. He could build on that.

"All right, dear friends," Jules began, "I have a story for you that sounds so fantastic and unbelievable that I have never told it to anyone before," which wasn't even a lie, since Jules had to make it up for himself first.

"In Aradun, a distant land, the evil King Argus had raised an army of terror. With their help, he wanted to subjugate all good people and create an evil kingdom of shadows. But there were five friends who opposed him. Henry, the village blacksmith, who could throw his heavy hammer far and unerringly. Philip, the hunter, who was able to hit a bird in flight with his bow and arrow. Hannes, the farmer, who was so strong that he could tame the biggest bull with his bare hands. Kuni, the squire, who wielded his sword better than his knight, and Leandra, the apothecary's daughter. Leandra was particularly clever and she also knew something about magic."

Jules looked around. The little children were already hanging on his every word, imagining the five friends, whereas the older ones turned up their noses. It was just a boring fairy tale after all, their faces said. Jules quickly continued with the story.

"Our five friends rallied all the upright men of the land. Their troop numbered fewer heads than that of the black army of the evil King Argus, but they were pure of heart and believed in justice and in their freedom."

Jules paused again briefly before continuing. He now raised his voice a little to increase the dramaturgy.

"There was a mighty battle. Our five heroes and their fighters were soon surrounded by the evil army. They fought back bravely and full of despair against the superior force, slaying their enemies by the dozen, so that the latter flinched back again and again in fright. But they were always incited anew by the evil King Argus. Their ranks also kept replenishing themselves, and so the battle waved back and forth all day. But when the sun set, the black army finally flooded back. They had simply had enough of fighting, were exhausted and wounded, had not been able to achieve victory over the humans despite their greater numbers. Their losses were so high that their courage had finally deserted them. The last remnants of the evil army scattered and the horde fled headlong into the forests. King Argus suddenly stood alone, abandoned by his war horde. In despair, he threw himself in his own sword and died."

With that, the story seemed to have already reached its end. In any case, Jules saw with satisfaction how the older children were already bored and turning away from the windows and the door. His short story had not been able to captivate them for a moment, was tawdry and useless. The little ones in front of him, on the other hand, were still looking at him half startled, but also half disappointed. They had certainly hoped for more from his story. But Jules had only just begun his story and so his voice brought them all back to Aradun.

"Our five friends had fought happily and had not suffered any serious injuries. But many of their comrades-in-arms had been killed in battle. They had had to pay an extremely high price for their victory over the evil king. There was no real joy among the victors. Each of them had lost friends or family in this battle. But if they had not fought so wildly and full of despair, they would have been sure of servitude and slavery for all time. So, in addition to all the grief for their loved ones, the survivors also felt the good and proud feeling of having fought for what was right."

"Our five friends came together after the battle and silently ed hands in gratitude. They were glad that they had all survived. They paused for a moment, feeling their shared happiness. Leandra was the first to break the silence: And now, dear friends? Where do we go from here? Together we have successfully fought the last battle and defeated the villain for all time. Aradun is free again and from today on we will all live in peace and safety. But what will the five of us do with the rest of our lives? What is to become of us?"

Jules noticed that the younger listeners were hanging on his lips again and Leandra's question seemed to interest the older ones at least a little.

"I don't know, said Henry, the blacksmith who had slain so many enemies with his hammer. I think we'll go back to our village and live there happily ever after."

"And what do you think, Philipp and Hannes?" Leandra asked.

"Henry is probably right. The time of great battles is over for us and heroes like us are no longer needed in a peaceful world."

"But can it really be," Leandra continued to probe despite the answers, "that our beautiful Aradun, where we had to experience such bad times under the evil king, suddenly becomes a completely normal and quiet country where everyone gets along peacefully? Is this really the end of all heroic deeds? Is there nothing left for us fighters to do?"

"Philip, who as a hunter possessed the best eyes of them all, suddenly looked up and peered into the setting sun, as if he had spotted something there that he had to pursue. This did not go unnoticed by his companions and so Hannes nudged him gently: Have you spotted something, Philip? There in the distance?"

I'm not sure yet," he said, "but there's something wrong with this sunset. Look, to the left and right of the sun globe, the world has suddenly gone dark, almost black. And he pointed excitedly to the horizon."

"You're right. I've never seen anything like it either. It almost seems as if the land is simply swallowed up with the setting of the sun. Henry's voice trembled at his words, which almost frightened the other four even more than what they saw with their own eyes. The calm Henry suddenly seemed to feel great fear, something they had previously thought impossible. They all continued to look up at the sky in amazement and saw how more and more blackness came over the land from the left and right, seeming to wipe it out completely. Where this hideous shadow had fallen, the world disappeared before their eyes. It was as if the earth with all its rivers and lakes, meadows and forests was being eaten up by the darkness. Then Leandra spoke up again: "I have read about this phenomenon before, in the book of the great sorcerer Orzak. It was only a conjecture of his, but it seems to be true."

"Her four friends looked at her expectantly and so she continued: "Orzak writes that the world only needs heroes until the last battle for good has been won and

the last evil has been destroyed. Then the time has come for true heroes to move on and face a new task in a distant land. My friends, I fear that for us the beloved Aradun is lost forever. We were the leaders of the resistance against the evil King Argus. We ed forces to defeat the last tyrant and bring goodness back to our land. Our task is done. I suppose we must move on together, if Orzak is indeed right."

"Leandra's words had startled her companions. The beautiful Aradun was to be lost to them? That could not, indeed that may not be true."

"There must be something we can do about that," Hannes said uncertainly, "we can't just stand by and watch our world end and disappear along with it, can we?"

"Of course, we don't just watch, said Philip, but what can we do about it? Do any of you have any ideas?"

"Leandra was completely lost in thought, but now startled: If the world ends for us, we must look for a new one, Orzak had written in his book. It must be a world with problems, a world where evil and injustice still exist. A world where heroes like us are still needed."

"Her friends looked at her uncertainly and also somewhat incredulously. Another world? Was there such a thing as another world? And, how on earth, were they supposed to get to this other world?"

"Orzak has also written that there is not just one earth, but many different worlds. They are supposed to be next to each other or inside each other. We can't

see or feel them, but they are there, close, at this very moment."

And how do we get there?" Philip said, looking around nervously, probably searching for one of these other worlds. For the shadows were advancing further and further, already taking up half of the horizon."

"There is a spell that Orzak mentioned. But he has written down next to it that you must only use this verse when there is really the greatest need."

I think we are in big enough trouble," Henry said, "Look, the blackness is coming closer. Already the mountains of Kalika have completely disappeared and the entire right bank of the great Lake Eria has simply dissolved."

"The shadows were really threatening. They even seemed to be rushing towards them faster and faster. Leandra looked at her friends seriously: "Let's hands. I don't know if and how the spell works, but we should definitely try to stay together. The five heroes formed a circle and ed hands in the middle, Leandra closed her eyes and murmured softly: Atambru jemeli oraturo androma existi."

"Darkness immediately enveloped the five friends, impenetrable darkness. None of them dared to speak or even to breathe. But they felt the air around them grow cold, even icy. But after a few seconds it warmed up again and a dawn set in, not like a sunrise from a certain direction, but all around them. It was as if they emerged from the blackness of night and entered directly into a bright, radiant world."

Jules noticed with satisfaction how the older children were also listening to him

attentively by now.

"The five friends blinked and looked around. They were standing in a wide meadow, surrounded by beautiful flowers and tall grass. In the distance stood a castle, towering majestically yet menacingly on a mountainside. It lay in the shadow of the mountains and its grey walls therefore looked gloomy and mysterious."

"Where did we end up here? Kuni was the first to recover from his surprise."

"There's no way it's Aradun," said Philip, who as a hunter knew the whole country."

"And what do we do now?" Hannes spoke up."

"If Orzak is right in his theory, we have definitely arrived at a place where evil reigns."

At that moment, singing sounded from the nearby forest and Philip warned his friends: "Watch out, someone is coming. Let's retreat under those trees and wait and see who approaches.

"The companions ran over to the nearby group of trees, hid behind the thick trunks and stared back at the edge of the forest. Out of it stepped a few men one after the other. They carried hoes and shovels over their shoulders and sang a merry song."

They are small," Henry whispered, "look, they would barely reach our chests. I wonder if all the people in this world are that small? That would make us almost giants."

"This thought did not seem to please the friends at all. Because five giants in a world full of dwarves would always stand out everywhere."

"Hush, hissed Leandra, not that they can still hear us."

"The little men followed a dirt track that led them across the meadow to another patch of woodland, behind which rose a high mountain."

"Are they on their way to work or are they going home?" speculated Kuni."

"They are going to work, because since we have been here, the sun has already climbed a bit higher there. It must be mid-morning. Philip the hunter had, as usual, the sharpest of them watching the environment."

"Then we'd best go in the direction the little men came from, Leandra said, so we might come across a village where they can tell us more about this world and its inhabitants. In any case, I don't want to go to the castle for the time being. In our experience, evil often emanates from the powerful in the land."

"The other four agreed, and so the five of them walked cheerfully along the path

into the forest from which the dwarves had come. Philip led the way, because with his sharp eyes, the hunter could spot a lurking danger soonest and fastest. And he was unbeatable at tracking anyway. But after only a few minutes, he suddenly raised his arm in the air and the others behind him also stopped silently. Through the leaves of the bushes and trees in front of them, the five spotted a clearing with a large house in the middle. Cautiously they crept closer."

"Attention," hissed Philip suddenly, "quickly away from the path and into the bushes. Someone has followed us and is getting closer."

"An excellent hunter, he also possessed the finest hearing of them all and could tell from the soft rustling of the leaves that a man, not an animal, was approaching."

"Maybe it's the workers we saw earlier?" Hannes said quietly, "maybe they're already coming back?"

"Our five heroes ducked behind the bushes and looked spellbound at the forest path. After less than a minute, a single figure became visible. She was much taller than the small men from before and wore a wide, black cloak with a huge hood. Her face was half hidden underneath. But one could see that it was an older woman. She kept her back bent, propped up on a stick. When she had come close enough to the clearing to see the large house between the trees, she stopped, rummaged around in a cloth bag, and took out first an apple and then a small, dark green bottle. She opened the cap and sprinkled the fruit with a transparent liquid. Then she put the bottle and the apple back into her bag and made her way directly to the house.

"When she had moved far enough away from them, the five friends put their heads together and Leandra said in a whisper: 'That was poison for sure. The old

woman must have poisoned the apple. She's going to kill someone. We have to stop that."

"Her companions nodded immediately and together they crept quietly behind the old woman. She had just reached the house and knocked gruffly on the door with her cane. A still young, beautiful girl with long, black hair opened and spoke to the woman for a while. Unfortunately, the five companions could not hear what they had to tell each other, for they were still too far away for that. But they saw the old woman rummage in her bag and take out the poisoned apple. She held it out to the girl."

"Now," Leandra whispered. Out of the corner of her eye, she had seen Philip put an arrow on his bow, tighten the string and aim it at the black figure. The arrow whizzed off and went through the old woman's cloak from behind, into her back and body. The force of the impact knocked her over and she fell to the ground. But the poisoned apple flew away in a high arc. But the young, so beautiful woman flinched in fright as the old woman fell dead in front of her, with a long arrow in her back. The black-haired woman even cried out loudly in panic, looked around fearfully, spotted our five friends stepping out of the thicket and with another cry of fear fled back into the house, slamming the door behind her."

"Our friends went over to the house. Philip briefly examined the old poisoner. She was dead as a doornail and no longer a danger. In the meantime, Hannes had carefully picked up the apple by the stem from the ground, carried it over to a flower bed, dropped it there and squashed it with the heel of his boot, then scraped earth over the pulp. No animal should be able to eat it. Kuni was about to turn to the front door to knock and reassure the young woman with words when Henry held him back by the arm."

"Look up there, he said sombrely, pointing up to the sky."

"Our five looked up. The firmament had darkened at its edges all around, though it could not even be noon yet. Blackness was spreading, swallowing more and more of the blue of the sky."

Was that all?" Hannes asked, amazed and uncertain at the same time, "just one poisoner killing nice young girls? Is that possible?"

"I don't know. But this world too seems to be dissolving for us," Leandra said disappointedly and then continued: "Comrades, we have to move on willy-nilly. Look, now it's getting darker and darker in the forest behind us. The end is approaching inexorably. Let's hands again."

"Leandra murmured the spell of Orzak again and the world around her sank once more into darkness and cold. But this time our heroes no longer felt fear, but eager anticipation. For she already knew that they would reappear in another world."

Jules now paused for a while to increase the tension, especially among his young listeners. Besides, he first had to decide on a successful continuation. The youngest ones continued to stare at him spellbound and Jules watched with amusement as one of the little boys nibbled his fingernails in excitement. The older ones, on the other hand, continued to try to look as cool as possible, as if they weren't the least bit interested in the story. But at least they looked at Jules in an open and friendly way and two of the older girls even nodded at him with smiles and encouragement.

"It was getting warmer, but this time it remained pitch black around them. Then the call of an owl sounded from some distance away and somewhere near them an animal was scratching in the leaves. There was a smell of cool, damp earth and herbs."

"Where are we?" whispered Leandra."

"I think we are still in a forest. But now it is dark night. It's as dark as in the belly of a whale, Philip murmured just as quietly. They all stared upwards. Only after a while could they distinguish the black tops of the trees from the only slightly lighter sky. But what should the five of them do? Alone in the middle of the night and in a forest that was completely unknown to them?

"Maybe we'd better wait until dawn?" suggested Hannes."

"And if it always remains so dark in this world and it never becomes day?" speculated Henry."

"That is hardly possible, they were reassured by Philipp, where plants grow, there must also be sunshine. Because only the light and warmth of the sun can make trees grow."

"This argument was not contradicted by any of them."

"I guess it's best we just stay here until the next morning, Leandra summarised."

"Or we can go to that light up ahead, added the usually silent Kuni."

"What light?" Philip asked back."

"Just move over to me a bit, da Kuni said, and you'll see it shining through between the tree trunks too."

"They groped their way in the dark in the direction of Kuni's voice and soon saw the yellow glow of a lamp as well."

"Where there is light, there are people, Philip decided, so shall we go there? What do you think? It's better than just sitting here all night waiting for morning, isn't it?" "Everyone gave him their consent."

"It will be best if I go ahead, because my eyes have become quite accustomed to the darkness and I no longer feel completely blind. Why don't you form a line behind me because that way only the one in front will have to keep an eye on the path. I will warn you of low-hanging branches and aerial roots on the ground."

"And that's exactly how they did it. Philip walked ahead, carefully putting one foot in front of the other and at the same time eagerly rowing his arms around in the darkness in front of him, feeling with his feet and hands for any obstacles that might lie or stand in front of him. The others had lined up behind him, each placing a hand on the shoulder of the one walking in front of them. In this way they made slow but steady and, above all, safe progress. The light in the distance was getting closer."

"It was quite a strange sight when they stepped between the last tree trunks into the clearing. For in front of them stood an ancient, itty-bitty house, its only window brightly lit. The roof seemed to be sagging from the weight of age, as if

it would have to collapse at any moment. And the walls were all crooked too. The immediate surroundings of the house, however, were bathed in a soft, yellowish light, looking peaceful and romantic. The only door and the shutters had funny patterns on them, as if they had been artistically carved and then colourfully painted. A sweet, enticing scent hung in the air. It smelled like roasted almonds, gingerbread and candy. Our five heroes sniffed dreamily and Hanne's belly began to growl loudly with hunger. They all had to laugh heartily at this sudden growl. Then the door to the little house opened and in the glow of the light an old, bent woman stepped out."

"Who is out there?" she asked in a weak, croaky voice. Leandra took over answering for her: We are just five travellers lost in the forest and in the night."

"Then come here to me and show yourselves."

"The old woman's voice had gained firmness, also showed no fear. Did she live here alone? But why then did she show no fear when a group of people came to her house in the middle of the night? Our five friends approached a little sheepishly and were appraised by the old woman with small, piercing eyes."

"Do you want to be travellers, she said with a lurk in her voice, and where is your luggage? Or are you travelling without trunks and suitcases? And why are you so heavily armed?"

"Actually, we belong to a group of hunters and were separated from the others, Leandra quickly made up an excuse, can we maybe stay with you until morning? It's so damp and cold out here in the forest."

"At first it seemed as if the old woman wanted to send them away heartlessly. She muttered something to herself that the five did not understand. Then she shook her head unwillingly. But immediately afterwards she changed her mind: "All right, she said, you can stay here with me for a few hours. But with the first rays of sunshine, you must leave again."

"The five of them went over to the house. As they approached, they were astonished. The shutters were made of biscuit dough and the walls were made of sugar, while the bricks were probably individual gingerbread. They stopped and looked at each other in amazement. So that's why that sweet smell of almonds and nuts hung in the air. It was a house built of nothing but biscuits. They had never seen anything like it before. Philip was the first to catch himself: "Are all the houses around here made of cakes and sugar?" he wanted to know from the old woman."

What's it to you?" the woman returned unkindly, her eyes twinkling mockingly, "come on in. I've put on some soup and you're welcome to eat it and warm up. The sun will rise in about two hours. You have to get out of here by then at the latest."

"Do you live here all alone?" Leandra asked sympathetically, to which the old woman fixed her sharply and said it was none of her business. The woman continued to show not a bit of fear of them. Surely, she had been living alone in this dense forest for a long time. For a fellow inhabitant would surely have long since peered out the window or the door to eye or greet the late visitors. Leandra thought to herself: Lonely people often become a little strange. The old woman must have forgotten how to deal with other people and that's why she's so grouchy to us."

"With a salute, our five heroes entered the house. There was a single room in it that served as kitchen, dining room, and living room at the same time. Over the embers of the open fireplace hung a huge cauldron, blackened by soot, in which

a thick soup bubbled quietly. The five wondered what the old woman was up to with a huge pot of soup. The enormous amount had to be enough for the woman for at least a month or even longer. Was the old woman perhaps out of her mind, cooking such quantities for herself? But by then our five friends had already been gruffly shooed away from the kettle by the old woman and over to the big table: "Sit down already," she snapped at her guests unkindly.

Jules paused for a moment and watched with amusement as all the children and young people now looked at him with great interest. Of course, they had all long since recognised the first and also the second fairy tale into which his heroes had strayed. All the more exciting for the listeners was the new starting point. How would this story continue? How would it end?

The easiest way to catch attention was to repackage the old familiar.

"It was pleasantly warm in the little house and so they not only laid their weapons on a bench, but also took off their jackets before sitting down on the clunky chairs. The old woman distributed five wooden bowls with five wooden spoons in front of them. Then she went to the big kettle on the cooker and stirred in it for a while. As she did so, she spoke softly to herself, also giggling in between, as if thinking of something highly amusing. The woman had certainly lost part of her mind, Leandra was sure of that. The old woman grabbed a jar of dried herbs from a high shelf. She poured a whole handful of them into the soup, stirred again vigorously and giggled again."

Yes, a sideways glance from Jules was enough for him. The younger children also knew very well that the witch had stirred poisonous plants into the soup. The little ones' eyes showed fear, but also unwillingness about what terrible things now awaited the five.

"Our heroes at the table almost fell asleep, they were so tired. The terrible experiences of today, the exhausting battle, the downfall of Aradun, the darkness and the uncertainty, then the small, strange men, the poisoner, and the pretty girl from the house in the clearing, whom they were fortunate enough to save from certain death, and after all this excitement and the cold and damp in the pitchblack forest, now this comforting warmth in the small house, which lay leadenly on their limbs. Yes, this exciting day was now taking its toll on them. The bubbling of the soup and the crackling of the fire lulled them further. They would have liked to stretch out on one of the benches and sleep for a while.

"Hey, wake up," an angry voice suddenly commanded them. The five heroes jumped up and realised in horror that they had all actually dozed off for a moment while the old woman had finished cooking her soup and ladled a large portion into each bowl on the table."

"Eat at last, for soon you must be on your way, the old woman urged them unkindly."

"With eyes reddened and swollen shut with fatigue, the five looked at each other. Then, as if on cue, they reached for the spoons, dipped them deep into the bowl, pulled it out and brought the hot soup to their lips, blowing gently over it to cool it a little. At that moment, the front door burst open and a blonde girl of perhaps seven or eight rushed in, shouting loudly: 'Don't eat any of this soup. It must be poisoned, for she," she pointed accusingly at the old woman, "is an evil witch and poisoner.

"The five friends flinched at the sudden appearance of the girl and were speechless for a moment. But then they all jumped up from the table and rushed at the old woman. She was just as startled by the sight of the girl, but then wanted to escape from the house quickly. But Hannes the farmer caught her right wrist and held the old woman by it. She resisted, shook her thin arm, tried to loosen his grip with her other hand, and at the same time hurled wild curses and

imprecations at Hannes. But once the strong farmer had grabbed him, there was no escape."

"Who are you?" Leandra asked the little girl. While Hannes held the old woman, she calmly went over to the eight-year-old, knelt in front of her and gently held the little girl, for the girl was trembling with excitement or fear."

"I am Gretel," the little girl informed them. I and my brother Hansel have been held by this witch for many weeks. We were lost in the forest and found this house. The wicked woman locked up my brother and I had to do her household chores. She wanted to fatten up my brother to roast and eat him later."

"The girl was completely distraught and our five heroes could hardly believe her words because of that, for the old woman looked guilt-ridden at that moment, but still quite harmless and only a little confused. Gretel, however, led Philips and Henry out of the house and to the small stable next to it. In it they found the girl's brother locked up. When they had freed him and were back in the parlour with both children, the two of them told them their whole story, how they had been abandoned in the forest three times by their parents because the food at home was not enough for all of them, how they twice happily found their way back because they had scattered pebbles, but how they had to take breadcrumbs the third time, which were pecked away by the birds, so that they got lost in the deep forest and could no longer find their way home. Both children cried bitterly when they told how the old witch explained that she wanted to eat poor Hansel. But Gretel realised on the first day of her imprisonment how badly the old woman could still see with her eyes. She came up with the trick of the chicken bone. Hansel held it out to her every time she checked whether he had already put on enough fat. The old woman wondered why Hansel didn't get fat despite the abundant food, but she had waited a few weeks. But yesterday she would have explained angrily that she had now had to do without human flesh for far too long. She would therefore slaughter Hansel the next morning, no matter how skinny he still might be."

"But now you are safe," Leandra comforted the two children, stroking their hair gently, "you need not fear any more. The witch can no longer harm you."

"In the meantime, Hannes and Kuni had tied up the old woman and locked her in the stable where Hansel had been squatting for so many weeks. They poured out the kettle with the poisoned soup, cleaned it carefully and cooked themselves a hearty stew with plenty of potatoes and various vegetables. They ate it all together with great appetite. They lay down to sleep and spent a few restful hours in the witch's house. The next morning, Hansel and Gretel showed them chests and boxes full of gold coins and precious stones in the attic. All seven of them stuffed their pockets, for this treasure had certainly been stolen together by the old witch and did not rightfully belong to her. For breakfast they ate from the gingerbread bricks, which they merely had to break off from the roof, dipped them in lots of hot milk. Thus fortified, they set off with the witch in tow to find their way out of the forest and reach the next settlement. Philip the hunter climbed a tall beech tree. From its top he could see all the way to the edge of the forest. Far away in the east, he could also see the walls of a town. Our five friends decided to deliver the two children and the wicked witch there."

"When you are in a deep forest, it is quite easy to determine the direction in which you have to go. Because in most places the wind blows from the same side most of the time, so a lot of rainwater falls on the bark there. Mosses and lichens settle there and form a green fur. This way you can always walk in the same direction without getting lost. One simply orients oneself to the green side of the trees. Despite this knowledge, it took our five heroes with the two children and the old witch almost the whole day until they finally arrived at the town. The closer they got to the big gate, the more often they met other people. Most of them stopped in amazement, looked uncomprehendingly at the group with the old, bound woman and shook their heads. But to all who wanted to know, our friends told the story of the wicked witch in the deep forest and the two children confirmed their words. The town guard had them led directly to the judge. The judge listened carefully to the testimony of the two children and our five heroes. The old woman denied everything, but it didn't help her. The judge believed the

seven and sentenced the witch to spend the rest of her life in prison. Hansel and Gretel's parents lived not far from the town, however, and the very next morning they were brought home by our friends. It was a joy when the father saw his two beloved children, for he had only succumbed to the evil whispers of his wife at the time. However, she had died in the meantime. The father had realised how stupid and wrong he had acted when he abandoned his children in the forest. He bitterly repented and had rushed back many times to the place where he had left his children but found no trace of them. All the greater was his joy at seeing them again. But when the children and our five friends also emptied their pockets and all the gold coins and precious stones piled up on the parlour table, the father's eyes gleamed with gratitude at the doubly gracious fate. Leandra, Philips, Hannes, Kuni and Henry were effusively seen off by the happily reunited family. For our five heroes wanted to continue on the same day and move on to the next town, hoping to reach it by the evening. This place was to be even bigger than the first. A new task would surely await them there. But they had hardly been on the road an hour when the sky above them began to darken again and Henry said sadly: "Look, the old witch was the last evil to be defeated in this world too. Our task seems to have been completed here as well."

"With that, Henry had probably expressed exactly what the other four also felt. They were heroes who had to fight all evil. And as soon as they had won the final victory, they had to move on soon afterwards and look for a new task."

"Leandra sighed sadly. All right, she said to her comrades, let's form a circle again and hands. She murmured the spell of the great Orzak, the world around her quickly darkened and the cold enveloped her."

The sun was already quite low on the horizon, casting its rays almost horizontally through the windows of the children's home and right into the middle of story time. Jules blinked against it and felt how dry his tongue and throat had become from all the telling.

"How does the story continue?" one of the older boys now spoke up, pushing from the window. The pause was taking too long for him. Jules cleared his throat briefly and continued.

"When our five friends emerged once again from the depths of darkness and cold, they were standing in the middle of hell. At least that's how it seemed to them. There was a loud din everywhere, as if all the devils were making noise. A huge metal box thundered past them on black wheels. The monster made the earth tremble and shake. And this first iron box was immediately followed by another, this time smaller. It roared viciously and venomously at them. Inside sat an angry guy who shook his fist in their direction and shouted at them: "What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the road, you idiots. This is lifethreatening, isn't it?"

"The five looked around intimidated. They were standing on a hard, black floor with a white line painted on the left and right and a dotted line in the middle. All around them stood or drove these big iron boxes on wheels that roared and roared so terribly loudly. On top of that, the drivers were scolding them from all sides."

"Come on, Leandra called to the others through the noise, let's go over there, to that meadow. They ran around the standing and rolling iron boxes and then climbed over a low fence of bare metal. At last, they had reached the grassy area beyond and felt safe. They caught their breath and watched the wild goings-on on this long, black ribbon with white lines, which one of those devils in the iron boxes had called a road and which led down from one hill and up to the next."

"Have you ever seen such moving metal boxes? Or one of those bands that the man called a road?" Hannes asked the group. No, was the unanimous answer of the others, there was nothing like that in all of Aradun.

Still shaking their heads, they watched for a while as the boxes on wheels lined up in long queues at great speed, racing in one direction or the other."

There is at least one person in each of these boxes, sometimes there are even four or five," Philipp reported his observation. In the big ones there is usually only one, at most two, in the smaller ones there are often more. And there are also children in them. How can they get around at all? They don't have horses harnessed. Are they all magicians? Did the great Orzak also write about such iron boxes in his book?"

"No, I don't know anything about such strange cars, haven't read about them anywhere either, Leandra answered Hannes' questions."

"Henry the blacksmith looked fascinated at these large containers on wheels. What could he forge out of all that iron? And how much iron must be here in this world, when even the little fence at the roadside was made of metal? And how bright it shone, as if it had been polished."

"For quite a while, the five stared at the never-ending hustle and bustle on the road. Then they had seen enough and let their eyes wander over the wide countryside. Behind a flat hill they discovered a large red roof."

"Come on, friends, let's go to that house over there, Leandra suggested, maybe we can get something to eat from the people and spend the night with them? This street with the iron boxes won't run away from us. We can continue to look at them tomorrow. The four others agreed and after half an hour's walk, they had already reached the house. A large, black, and brown spotted dog barked at them from afar. When the five ed a barn with huge bales of hay in it and cows roaring loudly at them from a long, shallow building, they finally realised that it was a farm."

"Have you ever seen such a huge farm?" stammered Hannes, stunned. the amount of hay and straw alone must be enough for a hundred cows. He shook his head in amazement at the enormous amount of feed and bedding. How infinitely rich must this farmer be here?"

"The big dog trotted slowly towards them and even though he stopped every now and then and barked loudly, his wagging tail showed at the same time that he did not really mean any harm. The five also held out their hands to him and the dog sniffed at them contentedly, then barked only occasionally and quite friendly. He had recognised that visitors had come who meant no harm. A man now stepped out of the three-storey apartment building and approached them with a smile."

"That must be the farmer," said Hannes, who recognised his peers anywhere in the world. It was indeed the farmer and when our five friends introduced themselves and Hannes asked him about work, accommodation and earnings, the man looked at them wordlessly and appraisingly for quite a while. Then, however, he nodded in agreement."

"I can always use hard workers. First wash your hands at the well there and then come into the house. My wife baked a cake this morning and it is time for a cup of coffee. Our five heroes did not refuse the friendly invitation. They freshened up at the well, entered the house curiously and also a little shyly, and were warmly welcomed by the farmer couple. Over coffee and cake, they immediately got to know the three other workers on the farm who were employed by the farmer."

"In the next few days, however, the farmer was amazed when he saw how diligently and efficiently our five worked. From early in the morning until late at night, they worked hard, harvesting fruit from the trees, repairing fences and

roofs, taking care of the many cattle in the barn, milking, mucking out and feeding them. No work was too dirty for them, no task too tedious. The five of them were housed together with the three other workers on the farm in a flat building next to the main house. Each of them had a room all to themselves. The five were amazed, because they did not know such luxury from Aradun. There, the whole family usually lived together in one room, where they cooked, ate, and slept. The farmer had also given them practical work clothes so that they didn't get the things they had brought dirty or torn."

"There were also two iron monsters on wheels on the farm. The farmer called them tractors and they roared so loudly that the five of them always winced when one of these vehicles started up. The farmer was a little surprised that our heroes had never heard of engines, cars, or tractors, but he explained everything very patiently. He had to laugh out loud, however, when one afternoon an aeroplane ed high above them in the sky and our heroes wondered about it and asked him if it was a dragon. But what impressed our friends most was the bright light that could be switched on in the evening just by pressing a button on the wall in each room. In Aradun, of course, they also had lamps. But they burned with petroleum or carbide and you always had to light them with a match first. In this world, however, people burned something the farmer called electricity. And instead of a match, they pressed something he called a switch. The best thing about it was that these lamps burned without soot and without stench. And yet their light was much stronger than the brightest carbide lamp in Aradun."

"Every day our five heroes learned a little bit more about their new world. They understood and soon they were no longer afraid of what the farmer called technology. Only one thing still gave them a headache after two weeks. Because after dinner, the farmer's family and all their employees liked to sit down in the big living room. There they switched on a very strange apparatus. It was a box made of a material the farmer's wife called plastic. This box had a big pane of glass on the front. When the machine was switched on, moving images suddenly appeared on the glass. In addition, words, music, and other noises came out of fine holes in the case, making you dizzy. The farmer's wife called this box a television and laughed at the five of us who were afraid of it."

"But Leandra, Philipp, Kuni, Hannes and Henry really liked the otherwise quiet life on the farm. They worked hard and got not only accommodation and food from the farmer, but also money. They pooled it and saved it together. Hannes and Philipp had even started to make friends with the huge tractors. The farmer showed them how to switch them on, how to accelerate, brake and steer. Our two heroes learned quickly and after two weeks they were allowed to drive these monsters all by themselves in the fields and plough the earth or haul heavy wagons with their help. One thing, however, preoccupied the five heroes more and more. After the last battle in Aradun, they had already appeared twice in a new world, quickly defeated the evil there and then had to move on. But what was wrong with this world? They had been here for so many days, after all, but they had not yet experienced anything truly evil, apart from the angry people in the speeding boxes on the street."

"Hannes had already asked the farmer on the third day whether the king in this country was a just man and whether the taxes paid to the bailiff in the area were appropriate. He just laughed and told him that the state was always hungry for revenue, but they did not have to fear a bailiff, rather something the farmer called banks. Whether the farmer had meant what he had said seriously, however, Hannes did not know, for he had laughed heartily to his words and patted him on the shoulders in friendship. Could it be that there was simply nothing really evil in this world?"

"Leandra turned to the farmer's wife a few days later: "Tell me, Martha, is there really nothing evil in the world? Everything seems so peaceful and happy. The farmer's wife had to laugh out loud at these words. Then she said, of course there is much evil, immeasurably much even. And she told her about the many starving people, about great wars with millions of dead, about criminals and malicious people whom she called terrorists. And Martha concluded her list with the words: "Leandra, there is so much evil in this world that you don't know where to begin and where to end "

"At first, Leandra was very shocked by this information and did not tell her comrades about it. For a few days she thought carefully about what had been said and also read books about the history of this world. But suddenly it became clear to her what this world with its faults, the evil people and all the bad things meant for her, the five heroes from Aradun. She immediately gathered her four friends around her and recited to them everything the farmer's wife had told her about the evil in this world and what she herself had read about it. Our heroes also learned about all the wars, the tyrants, murderers, and thieves. Their friends were horrified by so much wickedness in the world. But Philip quickly realised what Leandra was trying to make clear to them."

"Friends, he began, Leandra has opened all our eyes about this world. Until now, we believed that everywhere was as peaceful, honest, and beautiful as here on this farm. But now we know about the other, the dark side of reality, about the bad and the evil. Do you also realise what this means for us? This world desperately needs heroes like us, men and women who fight against evil, who stand up against the bad and stand up for the good. And this world here is so big and so evil that our work will probably never end. And that, my dear friends, is why we will never have to move on from here. We have finally arrived in our new home."

"Leandra was pleased that Philipp saw it the same way she did. And when Hannes, Kuni and Henry also nodded in agreement, they were quickly in agreement. They had fought for Aradun and still lost their home forever. Here, however, the tasks were so immense that they could probably never finally track down and defeat all evil. But that did not bother them at all. For it was not at all important to eradicate all evil from the earth for all time. It was enough to fight for the good at all times and thus make the world a little bit better. They promised each other to stay together forever, to learn everything about their new home and to always stand up for honour and trust, for justice and happiness. They were happy about their new home, even if it were not perfect and could never be. And if they didn't die, they still live here, in our midst, fighting together with us for good."

Jules had reached the end of his story and looked around. His younger spectators were still looking at him spellbound, some of them had their mouths open and were trying to absorb, understand and process everything they had heard. The older girls under the door, however, began to clap and the older boys at the windows ed in briefly before turning away with a thumbs up or the okay sign to play with the ball outside some more before the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon. The older girls ed them.

Dr Jaccard quietly came in the door and ed Jules and the smaller children. Jules didn't know whether she had been listening the whole time or had only ed them at the end. But the doctor said to the children, "That was a very nice story, wasn't it?", to which the little ones nodded happily. Jules said goodbye to them and went back to her office with Dr Jaccard.

"That worked out better than I expected," she said with a smile, "You did well, respect, almost as well as the heroes from Aradun. If you want to come and see us again, you're more than welcome."

"As long as I don't have to make up new stories out of thin air?" said Jules with a smile. He felt drained and exhausted. At the same time, however, the tension of the last few weeks had fallen off him and he finally felt really happy and content for the first time in a long time. On the way back, he resolved to visit the home regularly from now on to get to know the children and their needs better. Because even if he could no longer be what nature had intended him to be for little Alina, there were still enough tasks for him. Somehow, he felt like one of the heroes from Aradun when he parked his car in the driveway at home and unlocked the front door.

2006, in spring

Toni had ed him by phone and pointed out a deposited message. Jules logged into his bank via the internet browser and selected the notices.

Hi Jules,

After you wrote to me, I ed A.L. as soon as possible. In the last few weeks, I played golf with him a few times. He knows my father from before and we quickly became closer despite the age difference. He also has the same ion for fast cars and racing boats as I do. After working him a bit over the last few days, he poured his heart out to me last night (after the sixth Taiquiri). The US IRS is really breathing down his neck. This is nothing new for him, because a few years ago they had already tried to collect one hundred and eighty million in back taxes and fines from him. At that time, it was about his residence, which he had officially moved to Florida, where he did not have to pay income tax. However, he continued to spend most of his time in California. The IRS wanted to prove this to him. But even three years of tough court hearings couldn't bring him to his knees. In the end, he got away with an expiatory payment of a paltry two hundred thousand dollars, thereby washing his hands of all the tax authorities' accusations.

But now it was much worse, he lamented. He had foolishly allowed himself to be lulled into serious violations of the law by an investment advisor of a large Swiss bank. His investment advisor, an American by the way, had built up a complex construct of off-shore companies based in the Caribbean and foundations in Liechtenstein for him and in his name. The untaxed money from various real estate transactions had gone through these. For years, he had not declared any income or assets in his tax returns. His investment advisor had even

falsified receipts and statements for this purpose. Unfortunately, the American tax authorities suddenly had the original documents. The whole thing was blown wide open and his former investment advisor was now also acting as a key witness for the tax authorities. He does not know how the IRS came across this guy and how they were able to heckle him so much that he betrayed his own clients. But he would now be in deep trouble.

A.L. also told me that he had turned himself in to the tax authorities a fortnight ago on the advice of his lawyers. He said he had fully confessed and was counting on being able to come to some kind of agreement with the authorities. Because in the worst case, he risks a prison sentence of several years. Of course, he wants to avoid that by all means. And he will never forgive the big bank for the fact that his former advisor got him into such deep shit, even if the guy has not worked for them for a long time. A.L. seems determined to make the bank pay as heavily as possible. In return, the IRS will plead for a lighter sentence in court. But A.L. will also take civil action against the bank in order to on part of the horrendous fine he is expected to pay to it.

That was more or less all I could find out. After that, he just slurred his words and fell asleep at the bar counter a little later.

Should I stay with him longer or is this information enough for you? In any case, you should finally come and visit Milli and me here in the Keys again. The last time was almost two years ago.

On your second question, I have been in with two senators. They are good acquaintances of my parents and I have known them since my earliest childhood, still addressing them as Uncle and Aunt. Both of them have fully confirmed your suspicions to me. The political elite in Washington are tired of kowtowing to Wall Street bosses all the time. It would suit them fine if these smug guys were to get really pissed off in the next recession and run to their doom. Many senators believe that they can only get the financial markets in the

USA back under control if the biggest banks have to be rescued first with the help of state . Because then the Wall Street bosses would no longer be in charge for a few months and the legislators could finally stand up to them once again. That is why many hope that these financial sharks in New York will really speculate and drive some of their companies to ruin.

I don't think congressmen realise what a major financial crisis followed by recession and high unemployment will bring. But at the moment, their anger at the Wall Street bosses actually seems to be greater than their intellect.

Hopefully, we will see each other again soon,

Toni

The trap set for the bank had thus long since been snapped shut and Rosenbaum had completed his assignment for the IRS. The American tax authority was now in control and, with the help of Lokoviev and Rosenbaum, would certainly be able to inflict great damage on the bank. It had now become absolutely clear to Jules that the violations of the QI Agreement could lead to criminal charges against the bank. And what this meant in the USA had been shown by the deep case of the ing firm Arthur Andersen a few years ago.

After the bankruptcy of the energy company Enron, it became known that those responsible at Arthur Andersen had incriminating files destroyed. The ing firm was subsequently convicted by a jury in Houston for concealing and destroying evidence. As a result, it would have lost its licence as an auditing firm. It therefore appealed the conviction to the federal court in Washington. Two years later, the first-instance ruling from Houston was also overturned. But the Arthur Andersen company had long since ceased to exist by then. It had gone

bankrupt within a few months because no one wanted to work with this firm anymore.

In the case of a criminal lawsuit in the USA, the major bank from Switzerland was at least forced to give up its American business. No other US bank would still work with it. In addition, the bank could lose its licence for the USA. The subsidiary Payne Webber bought a few years ago for eleven billion dollars, and the many other billions invested in building up the American business would be lost overnight. In addition to a heavy fine, the bank would certainly have to deal with dozens of civil lawsuits from its American shareholders. That is the way it used to be in the USA. An animal that was ready to be hunted was hounded by the pack until it was finished off and the spoils could be divided among themselves. Years of litigation would in any case absorb many of the bank's senior staff, so that they could not devote themselves to their actual business in peace.

The exploitation of loopholes in the double taxation agreement of 1996, coupled with the violation of the QI agreement of 2001, could not only cost the bank its hitherto quite impeccable reputation, but also several tens of billions of dollars. However, it would still be far from being pushed to the financial abyss and could easily absorb a fine of twenty billion.

But when would this bombshell burst in the USA? And how would the IRS proceed in detail?

The most likely outcome was the usual American hoo-ha. Spectacular arrests of bank managers at airports, strong words from prosecutors in front of the assembled press, aggressive Senate hearings, perhaps spiced up by the involvement of the US Securities and Exchange Commission. This allowed a rapidly increasing pressure to be built up on the bank and thus also on the Swiss government, perhaps supplemented with a few international arrest warrants against senior representatives of the bank.

How was it back then, a good twenty-five years ago, with commodities trader Marc Rich? He was indicted by the then District Attorney and later New York Mayor Rudolph Giuliani for tax evasion, making false statements, trading with Iran and a few other offences. Giuliani subsequently secured a court order requiring the commodities trader's Swiss company to hand over its files to the US authorities, which it refused to do. The competent district court then imposed a fine of fifty thousand dollars, fifty thousand dollars per day, mind you. The company filed a suit against this and after many months was also proven right. The case against them was even dropped soon after, without any fine being paid or any documents being handed over. The prosecution's evidence had not been sufficient to convince the court of the legitimacy of an indictment and to initiate proceedings. But the majority shareholder of the extractive company, Marc Rich, was still wanted on an international arrest warrant despite the lack of charges. His name was also on the FBI's list of the world's most wanted criminals for eighteen years. Only President Bill Clinton pardoned Marc Rich, along with others who may have been wrongly accused, in January 2000 and on his last day in office.

During the eighteen years Marc Rich was never tried and therefore never convicted of any offence. The evidence of Giuliani and his successors was not sufficient for any objective court to call a trial. So basically, Marc Rich only had the misfortune of having to serve as a springboard for the political career of a go-getting prosecutor. Giuliani achieved his goal, made himself known and popular in half of America with the indictment of the well-known commodities trader, and was later elected mayor of New York. Politics has always been played with such hardball in the USA. And the principle continued to work, as Giuliani's many imitators proved every year anew. In the land of unlimited possibilities, people would walk over dead bodies, even as prosecutors, if it helped their own political careers.

But if the bank got into financial difficulties due to its imprudent investment policy and at the same time was hauled into court by the tax authorities for

aiding and abetting fraud, then it got into a real fix from which it could not extricate itself without help from the Swiss government. And help in this case could only mean concessions in the area of bank client confidentiality. No, Jules could not under any circumstances let this matter go on. Because there were still a few arrows in his quiver.

*

"Thank you very much, Federal Councillor Schneller, for seeing me."

Jules sat at the meeting table in the Minister of Justice's office and looked appraisingly at the sixty-five-year-old man. Did he have enough energy left to pull off such a hairy affair? After all, it would be difficult even for a minister to prevail against one of the country's big banks.

"What do you want to tell me anyway, Mr. Lederer? My secretary only told me that you had important information concerning one of our banks."

His voice sounded calm and friendly, almost jovial, but also carried that certain undertone that made you feel how curt and overly determined the man could appear. It reminded Jules strongly of his grandfather, who died, shortly before his ninth birthday. He had always seemed just as firm and unshakeable to Jules, whether he was talking about the work to be done on his farm or about the consequences of the hailstorm or what to be careful about because Elsi was about to calve.

"First of all, I have to preface this by saying that I deal with secrets by

profession."

"Then you are a journalist?" was the curt question from his counterpart.

"No, no. I don't work in public and I don't work with her. Not very often, anyway."

The Federal Councillor's look betrayed an awakening curiosity. He looked at Jules invitingly to continue speaking.

"Some time ago I heard a recording of a secretly recorded telephone conversation. It took place some months ago between a CIA agent and probably an American congressman. It concerned a case of tax evasion or tax fraud in the US. If the conversation is to be believed, the CIA, on behalf of the US IRS, infiltrated several employees into our largest bank as investment advisors and managers, perhaps into other banks as well. One of them, his name is Burt Rosenbaum, subsequently persuaded US Americans over a period of years to evade taxes under Swiss law and thus to commit tax fraud under US law. The American tax authorities now have at least one of these tax evaders in their hands, a billionaire named Andrei Lokoviev. He has already turned himself in to the authorities to get his sentence reduced, so he will try to negotiate a deal with the IRS that is as favourable as possible for him. I assume that the American tax investigators will blow the case up big in order to use it not only to impose heavy fines on some banks, but as a real goal to destroy Swiss bank client confidentiality."

The Federal Councillor had raised his right eyebrow briefly at the word "tax evasion" and then written CIA, Burt Rosenbaum, and Andrei Lokoviev on a notepad. Then he looked at Jules again, putting on a poker face from which his thoughts could not be read. But now he was willing to reply.

"Switzerland's banking secrecy is under constant pressure from abroad, from individual EU countries as well as from its extended arm, the OECD. And of course, also by the Americans. This is nothing special and our banks are well prepared for it. And if one of the institutions has made mistakes, then it should pay for them accordingly."

"But what about the double taxation agreement of 1996? It talks about "tax fraud and the like". This is the first time that the Swiss term for tax fraud has been softened. And it could one day depend on the Federal istrative Court how it interprets this age from the treaty with the USA. In any case, the Americans believe that an offence against the QI agreement automatically equals tax fraud."

"Well?"

"The 2001 Qualified Intermediary Agreement between the IRS and the international financial institutions gives banks the illusion of a loophole in their obligation to report the assets of US clients. They still believe that under certain complex conditions no information has to flow to the IRS. These are constructions from foreign trusts and foundations. This alleged rubber paragraph in the QI agreement has since been used extensively by all European banks to allow US clients to evade taxes, as one insider told me. The banks believe that the US government deliberately left the loophole open in order to help their billionaires get a tax bonus. But in the years since 2001, the courts in the US have changed their interpretation of the law. The "look-through-entities" principle is now being applied more and more frequently. Since then, letterbox companies and foundations are no longer automatically regarded as independent legal entities, but as mere vehicles for concealing tax offences. If in future the actual beneficiaries behind these company and foundation constructions are found out, they will be able to be brought to court for tax fraud. In my opinion, the Americans have set a nasty trap for us Europeans with the QI Agreement and

its alleged loopholes, into which many international institutions have since fallen. The consequences are not even remotely foreseeable for me at the moment."

"Our big banks are strong enough to face tough accusations. And if their legal departments have indeed overlooked something and damage is done, then they will pay a fine of a few hundred million dollars and that will be the end of it.

The Federal Councillor seemed very sure of himself. At any rate, his expression expressed that for him the conversation was basically over.

"But what if the big bank will be in serious financial trouble at that time? What if these cases of tax fraud are being blown up and dragged out into the open at the very moment when the bank, due to high losses in proprietary trading, no longer even has enough reputation in the financial markets to see the matter through in court?"

"What do you mean?"

"I am aware of another telephone call that took place between the same CIA agent and the banker Franz Waffel at least four years ago. The CIA agent made massive threats against Waffel and his family. Franz Waffel was to be persuaded to make his bank's investment strategy riskier, according to CIA guidelines. The plan was to catch the bank stone cold in the next sharp economic downturn in the USA and push it close to the financial abyss. In addition to Waffle, other key representatives of the bank are said to have been pressured by the CIA. I have since found out that the big bank has been pumping a lot of money into the subprime real estate market and other structured products in the US for some time and wants to invest much more in this asset class in the future. I'm sure you know, Mr. Federal Councillor, what is meant by subprimes."

"Explain it to me, please."

"Subprimes are risky mortgage debts, for example of highly encumbered properties or low-income owners. Private home buyers in the USA speculate on a rapid increase in the value of their properties. They hope to increase their wealth in this way. However, if growth in the US were to slow down at some point, house prices would certainly come under pressure. You know that every boom ends in a more or less severe recession at some point. But if unemployment rises, many homeowners will no longer be able to service their debts. The subprime mortgage segment will be hit particularly hard by this negative development since most of these homeowners could not afford their property in the first place and were only hoping for a quick speculative profit.

"As far as I know, Mr. Lederer, Swiss banks do not grant mortgage loans in the USA," was the dry retort of the Minister of Justice.

"Yes, Federal Councillor, that is probably true. But the American institutions combine a few thousand subprime mortgages at a time and turn them into a socalled structured product. This new security is then sold on to other banks. And these banks, in turn, combine various securities and create another structured vehicle, which they also sell on. The result is a cascade of securities, but always backed by the same bad debtor or the same highly encumbered object. Our two big banks are heavily involved in this business through their investment activities in the area of proprietary trading and are diligently building up ever higher positions".

Jules took a short breath while the Minister of Justice uttered a quiet "continue".

"Since Basel II, the necessary equity capital of a bank is calculated on the basis of market prices. The market prices depend on the ratings of the agencies, above all the three American companies Standard & Poor's, Moody’s, and Fitch. Up to now, the agencies have almost without exception given structured securities an AAA rating, although they are obviously backed by highly encumbered properties and less solvent debtors. I am not in a position to answer whether the CIA also has a hand in these ratings, which in my view are too optimistic and even exaggeratedly positive. But as soon as the US economy cools down, the real estate bubble there will burst. The market for structured papers will come to an immediate standstill. There will be no more buyers and prices will plummet. In the end, the effective losses of the banks on the subprime mortgages will be no more than thirty percent, which corresponds to the actual reduction in the value of the houses due to a recession. But if there are no more market prices because no one is buying, then the banks will have to make much higher writedowns on their structured products under the Basel II guidelines, perhaps sixty or even eighty percent. At the moment, these are all just book losses and they are not effectively realised. But the write-offs would eat up the banks' equity and put them into serious payment difficulties. Whoever is sitting on these papers in the next economic downturn in the US is definitely the fool and can be driven to the brink of ruin."

"You say all this with such certainty, Mr Lederer. Do you have a crystal ball with which you can look into the future?"

Some mockery had crept into the Federal Councillor's words, even though his face still radiated attentive seriousness.

"The CIA's plan, in my opinion, is for our largest bank to be heavily involved in the market with the structured products on American subprime real estate. Waffle has seen to that in recent years and he will continue to do so. At some point, however, the real estate bubble has to burst just like any other speculation. The big bank will run into the open and have to write many billions in losses. And this will probably be the time when the US tax fraud case is fully unpacked.

This will not only put additional pressure on the bank itself, but on the entire Swiss financial centre. You know as well as I do, Federal Councillor, that we cannot let any of our big banks go under. They are far too important for the economy and for the population. Too big to fail, as the Americans so aptly put it. But how will politicians react and decide in such a case? Wouldn't extremely large concessions have to be made to the Americans in order to save the bank? Would one perhaps even sacrifice banking secrecy for this? The federal government and the National Bank can certainly provide enough money so that the big bank can absorb the losses on the real estate securities and also pay a large fine. However, if criminal charges are brought against the bank in the USA, then we are quickly talking about a loss in the triple-digit billions. Even for our country, this amount would be almost insurmountable. As a result, the Swiss franc would lose its function as a safe haven, which in turn would drive up interest rates in our country and strangle the entire economy for many years to come. Politicians would therefore have to weigh up between a financial disaster of several hundred billion francs and the relaxation or even complete abandonment of bank-client confidentiality. I am sure, Federal Councillor, that one would have to choose the second, lesser evil."

The Minister of Justice thought for a few seconds. Then he hurried to see Jules off without responding to the onitions.

"Thank you for your valuable information, Mr Lederer. However, let the matter rest with that. I will do what I have to do to prevent damage.

*

"Hello Martin, yes, it's me, Helmut."

…

"Yes, I agree with you. It's been a long time since I've been seen at your house. Work, you know how it is."

"Martin, I have one question for you: Do you still have your investment strategy under control or are you now taking too many risks? A little birdie told me that you are putting a lot of money into the American real estate market.

...

"No, I won't tell you the name of this bird for now. But he also told me that the CIA pressured your CEO to take too high risks in your bank's proprietary business."

…

"What do you say? A robber's tale? Yes, that's what it sounded like to me too. You think there's nothing to it?"

…

"Yes?"

…

"Very good."

"But my informant told me something else. Several CIA agents are said to have sneaked in with you as managers in asset management, including a certain Burt Rosenbaum. He and his colleagues are said to have constructed several cases of tax evasion or tax fraud on behalf of the American tax authorities. They want you, it seems to him, to walk into the open knife of the IRS, perhaps even with the distant goal of cracking bank client confidentiality."

…

"What are you saying? You know about Rosenbaum? You have long since dismissed him? This matter is also already off the table?"

I guess a longer explanation followed.

"Ah, so that's how it is. You've been working on your defence strategy for a long time?"

…

"Very good. I knew I could rely on you and your bank. No hard feelings then, Martin. It was just a storm in a teacup. Will you and your wife be at the opera house on the sixteenth for Tosca?"

…

"Yes?"

…

"Wonderful, then I'll see you there. I wish you another pleasant afternoon."

Federal Councillor Schneller hung up the phone and leaned back relaxed in his office chair, put his head in the back of his neck and stared up at the ceiling. Then he calmly went through the conversation with the chairman of the supervisory board again, ing every nuance in the banker's voice. After a short while, Schneller knew what he had not liked about Martin Poller's answers. They simply came too quickly, too smoothly and yet so thoughtfully from the lips of his good acquaintance. Yes, Martin had not even been really taken aback by the accusations and allegations.

"Bullsh...", Schneller thought aloud.

There was probably more to this affair than he would have liked. The statements of this Jules Lederer suddenly did not seem so fantastic to the Federal Councillor. He immediately called his secretary into his office.

"Ferdi, can you please put me through to the head of domestic intelligence?"

"With Hans Walter?"

"Yes, with Walter."

"And in what matter?"

"Just like that."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah, just like that."

Less than an hour later, the first measures were taken to monitor the top managers of the major bank. In addition, Schneller informed the National Bank and the Financial Market Authority of his fears that the bank could speculate and thus get into a financially threatening predicament. A secret project team was formed. Its mandate was to monitor the bank from afar, to analyse its financial situation on an ongoing basis and to initiate countermeasures if they proved necessary.

Ferdinand was also instructed by Schneller to stop putting calls from Martin Poller through to him for the time being and to get rid of him in any case. Schneller and his wife would also have to do without Tosca in Zurich on the sixteenth. The Federal Councillor did not want to see or speak to any of the top executives of the big bank in person in the near future.

Wednesday, 25 June 2008

During the remaining hours of the night, Aleksej and Jules tried to find out as much as possible about the place the young FSB agent had revealed under torture. Actually, Aleksei was only able to extract three words from her, namely IFMO Saint Petersburg. Because that was the name of the subscription to the caller's mobile phone number.

The two men had found Alabima and Chufu hanging on the sofa and sleeping when they returned. However, the two quickly perked up when they heard about the progress. They participated in googling on the internet and quickly found out that IFMO stood for Institute of Precision Mechanics and Optics. The institute was one of the many departments of the Russian university in St Petersburg.

"What on earth does precision mechanics and optics have to do with kidnapped children?", Alabima's question sounded simultaneously incredulous and somehow frightened, "and how can it be that the Russian secret service and thus the Russian state kidnaps children?", she continued.

"Let's not make any assumptions about that for the time being. I am not sure that these four FSB agents were working on behalf of the Russian president. That seems too fantastic to me. And the kidnapping of Alina also doesn't fit any pattern that a government agency could be involved in. Instead of speculating, we should first gather more information about the IFMO and those responsible for it. Maybe we'll find out for what purpose they kidnap children," Jules said.

However, they could not find out much concrete information about the ongoing

research at the institute. The only reference that seemed somewhat useful was found on a PSI website from . There was talk of bioelectrography and a Professor Konstantin Korotkov from St Petersburg. The researcher had been working for many years on the visualisation of energetic effects in spiritual healing. For this purpose, he had developed the Gas Discharge Visualisation technique. With its help, he was able to make changes in energy currents visible. Professor Korotkov was a world-renowned scientist and president of the International Association for Medical and Applied Bioelectrography. Jules and the others could not for the life of them imagine that this researcher had anything to do with the abducted children. But his area of expertise was their only point of for the time being. Alexei assured them more than once that the FSB agent had certainly not lied to him about the IFMO. She was no longer able to do that after the torture.

The four of them decided to follow this single track, packed up their things and squatted in the Range Rover at four in the morning. Aleksej got behind the wheel because Russian motorway traffic was not for foreigners, he said. From the road, it was shortly after eight o'clock, the bodyguard also called Vladimir Sokolow on his mobile phone. It was significant that the former elite soldier had not saved the phone number but dialled freely from memory. Leaving as few traces as possible was part of the basic training of every agent. If names, addresses or numbers were to be found on the device at all, then at most those that served as false leads. In case of loss, nothing useful was to be left behind for a finder.

The day before, Jules had already noticed how Aleksej always pressed a few buttons after ending a call before putting his mobile phone away. He probably deleted the information about the call right away. And the mobile phone was certainly a pre-paid version whose owner was not ed anywhere and could therefore hardly be traced.

After the Russian had let it ring for quite a while, a voice finally answered on the other end of the line. Aleksej asked to be connected to his employer. Then he

handed the mobile phone to Jules.

"Sokolow."

"Volodya? It's Julja."

"Ah, it's you Julja. Have you finally heard from the kidnappers? How are Labi and Chufu?"

It was good to hear the clear and calm voice of the oligarch, from which one could sense an honest sympathy.

"No. The kidnappers have not ed us yet. Labi and Chufu are doing well under the circumstances. But we are no longer in Moscow, but on our way to Saint Petersburg."

"To Saint Petersburg?", Vladimir's voice sounded surprised, "what do you want there?"

"We are following a lead. With the help of Aleksej, we were able to gain access to a Moscow ring of child abductors. Alina was most likely abducted by this organisation but has long since been ed on. They gave us the name of a research institute in St Petersburg where all the children were probably taken. It's the IFMO, the Institute of Precision Mechanics and Optics."

Stunned silence reigned for a moment on the other side.

"An institute of the Russian University? Unbelievable. But what does precision mechanics have to do with child abduction?"

"We don't know that yet either. But we have come across a Professor Konstantin Korotkov in our research. He is our only point of at the moment and we would like to meet with him as soon as possible and talk about his work. But as foreigners, we are unlikely to get an appointment with him. Probably a few official bodies would first have to decide whether a Russian professor is allowed to talk to us at all or whether his work should be classified as a state secret. That's why I have a big request for you. Could you use your influence and get us an appointment with Professor Korotkov today if possible?"

"But of course, Julja, I'd like to try. What was his name? Konstantin Korotkov? Yes? Okay. When will you arrive in Saint Petersburg approximately?"

Jules ed the question on to Alexei.

"We should be there in an hour, around nine o'clock," he said after glancing at the clock in the dashboard.

"Okay. Give me an hour or two, please. I'll call you as soon as I get the commitment, yes?"

"Thank you, Volodya. It's nice to have a friend like you by our side."

"You're welcome, Julja. It is little enough that Ira and I can do for you and poor Alina."

Jules said goodbye and disconnected the call. Then he explained to the others that Vladimir wanted to call them back in two hours at the latest and had then hopefully reached the okay for a conversation with the professor.

"Where might he get this approval?" asked Chufu, to which Alexei replied dryly: "I think he will call the Minister of Research directly and ask him for it. Vladimir Sokolow enjoys great influence among the of the government. I'm sure no one will oppose his request."

They had reached the first suburbs of Saint Petersburg and Alexei added: "In half an hour we will already arrive at the institute. But we will hardly be able to meet Professor Sokolow there before ten o'clock. What do you think? Should we have breakfast beforehand?"

The time since Alina's abduction, the mostly sleepless night and the long drive here had left marks on their faces. Tired, Alabima and Chufu sat in the back of the rover and stared ahead from red-veined eyes. They had hardly found any sleep during the journey either.

"First of all, we should find a hotel in the area and freshen up there. After that, a strong coffee and a hearty breakfast certainly won't hurt," Jules said, and the other three didn't object. Aleksej drove directly to the Hotel Guyot, which might be about a kilometre away from the institute. It no longer deserved four stars, as painted on the façade, but the rooms were quite large and clean. After a refreshing shower, they met again in the lobby of the hotel.

The GPS system guided the car directly to Sablinskaya. They drove slowly past the sprawling area of IFMO buildings. It was still quite early in the morning and therefore only a few ers-by were on the pavements. The institute's parking spaces were also sparsely occupied. Nearby, Aleksej found a tearoom where he could park the car. To the left of the entrance were two small tables with a few chairs, and so they sat down. A grumpy-looking, round-faced woman soon stepped out of the front door, quickly realising that at least three of her four guests were not Russians and were probably tourists. Immediately she sensed a good deal with stupid foreigners. In Russian she asked for their wishes and the disappointment was written all over her face when Jules took the floor and ordered a rich breakfast for four from her firmly without an accent in the local language. She quickly disappeared again behind the pearl curtain, muttering something unintelligible, but returned a little later with four large cups, which she spread out on the two tables in front of them. Then she disappeared again into her tearoom, only to return a moment later with a pot of coffee and a jug of warm milk. Wordlessly, she poured them two-thirds coffee, one-third milk. Before Chufu could say anything, her hand disappeared into her apron pocket and came out with a sugar shaker, which she wordlessly placed in front of him. Chufu thanked her in English, which the woman seemed to understand, because she nodded sourly.

They carefully sipped the hot and bitter brew from the rim of the cup. Their spirits awoke anew. Meanwhile, the sun climbed higher and higher in the cloudless sky and they blinked against its rays. It must have been around twenty degrees. The weather forecast on the internet was still right.

After perhaps five minutes, a giant of a man stepped out of the door. He had tied a formerly white apron, now soiled in many streaks, in front of his considerable belly and was balancing four plates of omelettes and rolls on his arms. Carefully, he set them down in front of them and then dug out a few knives and forks from his right tro pocket and placed them wordlessly on one of the tables. Then he disappeared inside again.

Despite their fear for Alina, all four ate with a healthy appetite, which pleased Jules immensely. The feeling of hunger showed him the great willpower of Alabima and Chufu. They knew very well that they could only help the little one if they remained operational and did not become a burden for Jules and Alexei.

The tearoom was not busy and while they were eating their breakfast, only two old men came by and disappeared inside with an inquiring sideways glance at the tourists. They had not finished eating when Alexei's mobile phone rang. He answered it, listened and then said, "Thank you Gaspadin Sokolow. I'll the message on." Then he disconnected and deleted the number while explaining to the others, "The director of the institute, a certain Fyodor Igarivich Gerriosch, is expecting us at half past ten. Vladimir Mikhailovich Sokolow has not told the research minister about our suspicion with the abducted children. We are expected in the research laboratory as visitors from the West who are interested in Professor Korotkov's work. Vladimir Mikhailovich Sokolow has also offered to open more doors for us if necessary."

Jules shook his head.

"No, I think at the moment we have to be happy to at least follow this thin trail. At half past ten you say. We still have a little over half an hour before we have to leave. Is anyone else hungry or thirsty? We should at least order some more water for ourselves."

Aleksej went to the tearoom and returned shortly afterwards with two litre bottles of mineral water and four glasses. They gulped down the cool water almost greedily. The cook of the tearoom must be in love, so heavily salted were the omelettes.

After a while, the woman stepped out of the door again and looked at her expectantly.

"We would like to pay," Jules also promptly told her, "and how much is everything together?"

"One hundred and twenty," was her reply. Jules handed her a five hundred rouble note and at the same time asked a little teasingly, "Do you actually know the research institute over there, the IFMO?"

The woman first looked at the money, then back at him, then back at the note. It suddenly disappeared with a swift movement into the depths of her apron pocket. Then she looked Jules dismissively in the face and said "No", turned around and went back inside.

Jules shrugged, "At least it was worth a try."

They got into the car and Aleksej drove back the short stretch of road, finding a parking space there without any problems. They got out and walked directly towards the wide entrance portal of the istration building, entered, and headed for the reception desk. An older, bony man sat behind the counter and looked at them uncertainly but also suspiciously appraisingly.

"Can I help you?" was his unexpectedly polite question in Russian.

"We have an appointment with the director of the institute. Fjodor Igariwitsch

Gerriosch is expecting us at half past ten," Aleksej took over answering.

"Fjodor Igariwitsch Gerriosch has his office in the rear building. Please go down the corridor here. The door at its end leads directly out into the courtyard. I'll you with him so that he can come and pick you up there."

Jules could see Alabima's growing tension. The young mother was torn by her feelings and impressions. On the one hand, there was this IFMO as her only clue to Alina's abduction so far. On the other hand, everything here seemed so normal, unexciting, and therefore completely unsuspicious. Everyone could recognise them as foreign visitors and yet they didn't even have to identify themselves or give their names. Moreover, they were allowed to walk through the middle of the building and into the inner courtyard without an escort. Surely it could not be that child abductors were so friendly and without any sign of suspicion?

"Maybe the clue was wrong after all," Jules tried to dispel her buzzing thoughts, "quite possible that the woman lied to us."

Jules saw from the corner of his eye how Alexei silently shook his head, which did not escape Alabima's attention either. The bodyguard did not doubt for a second that he had squeezed the truth out of the FSB agent.

When they stepped out of the building at the end of the corridor and walked across the open square towards the next one, a man of about fifty years old with a broad, open smile on his face came towards them down the short entrance stairs. It had to be the deputy director Gerriosch because they had found a few pictures of Konstantin Korotkov on the internet and the professor looked quite different.

"Lederer family? It is a pleasure for me and my institute to welcome you here. I am the deputy director, Fyodor Igarivich Gerriosch. Unfortunately, the director of the institute is in Moscow today on urgent business, you understand. But I will be at your side as far as possible with advice and action."

Gerriosch spoke English with a strong Russian accent. One after the other, he shook hands with them, starting with Alabima, who looked at him with a waiting, almost lurking expression and barely returned his greeting, but this did not upset the man at all. Jules could see in his wife's eyes that for her this director was a monster, an inhuman being, no matter how friendly he pretended to be towards them and how unsuspicious everything here might seem. Alabima still trusted Aleksej's opinion completely.

Chufu muttered an obdurate "Hi" in greeting as Gerriosch shook his hand. Then it was Jules' turn. The deputy director's hand made her feel warm and dry. The pressure of the fingers was neither hard nor soft, just appropriate for greeting possibly important people whom one was not yet able to classify and who one therefore first had to fathom.

Then Gerriosch turned to Aleksej as well, but unlike everyone else, addressed him in Russian: "And you are?"

They all heard the presumptuous and at the same time lurking undertone from this short sentence. The deputy director could not assess the importance of the three foreigners, but he certainly did not have to be wary of a Russian he did not know at all. As a high government official, he was too influential and too important for that.

"I am only the family's companion," Aleksej returned modestly and in English, so that Alabima and Chufu could also understand him.

Gerriosch examined him closely once more and then probably dismissed him as an insignificant bodyguard. He paid no further attention to Alexei.

"Let's go to my office first, if you don't mind?"

With these words, the director turned away and walked ahead of them up the few steps to the entrance, holding the door open for them.

"Straight ahead, down the corridor. It's at the very back, on the left."

Chufu and Alabima went ahead, Gerriosch and Jules followed them and Aleksej stayed a few steps behind.

"We actually wanted to talk to Professor Korotkov," Jules began the conversation.

"That's what I was told. But unfortunately, Professor Korotkov is on holiday this week and next, somewhere on the road in the Urals," was the disappointing answer, "but I can put you in touch with one of the professor's colleagues.

"Your institute enjoys an excellent reputation in certain circles in the West,"

Jules linked up in a friendly but also somewhat lurking manner.

"We try, Mr. Lederer," the deputy director evaded, then countered in his turn, "but which circles do you actually mean?"

"Various ones, including NATO, of course," Jules launched a trial balloon.

"NATO?", Gerriosch acted extremely surprised, "we are doing all kinds of studies on mechanics and optics here, but they are purely civilian research projects. Which of these could interest NATO?"

He had pronounced his question a little too arrogantly and at the same time sarcastically, as if he wanted to make fun of the Swiss.

"You also do research on the human brain, don't you?", Jules probed, for the strange abduction of a mentally handicapped toddler came to mind.

"On the human brain? How do you come up with something like that? No, none of our professors are medically trained and I, as deputy director, should know if one of the research projects is going in this direction. Or do you mean Professor Korotkov's gas discharge visualisation technique? These studies sometimes involve humans or animals, but they are certainly not actual brain research. It's just measuring electrical currents."

Jules found Gerriosch's dismissive rant a little strange, but it sounded quite honest and very plausible. They had reached his office by now and sat down

around a conference table.

"May I offer you a coffee or a tea?" the deputy director inquired.

"Thank you very much, but we've just come from breakfast," Jules acknowledged curtly, "since Professor Korotkov is not here, perhaps you could put us in touch with one of his staff for that?"

"Of course. I'll set it up right away."

With that, he stepped up to his desk, picked up the phone, pressed a few keys on the machine and then said in Russian: "Stjepan Wassil'iwitsch? This is Fyodor Igarivich. Could you please come to my office for a moment? There are visitors here who are interested in Professor Korotkov's work. Yes, right away, if you don't mind. Thank you very much."

"Dr Stjepan Wassil'iwitsch Rasputin will be available to you in a few minutes. In the meantime, perhaps I can answer a question or two for you?"

His voice now sounded ingratiating again. But not for the first time, it also contained a false undertone. Was he just putting on an act for them? Did he perhaps even know them and know exactly why they were here? But that seemed impossible to Jules.

"And what are you doing with the children," it suddenly burst out of Alabima.

She had reacted reservedly, even dismissively, to Gerriosch's non-committally friendly manner from the very beginning. Now it seemed to Jules as if an everincreasing resentment had been building up inside her all along, an inner rage that continued to grow with every further eloquent sentence from the deputy director and was now being discharged. Gerriosch looked surprised and quite startled for a moment after this bluntly direct question, but quickly regained his composure and put on his fake smile again.

"What do you mean by children? As I have already explained to your husband, no research is done on humans at all here at the Institute. That also applies to children."

"But we have been assured in Moscow that children are regularly handed over to your institute for research purposes."

On the one hand, Jules could well understand his partner's direct attack, but it did not seem very clever or purposeful to him. Gerriosch's voice now promptly took on a presumptuous and dismissive tone as he coolly declared, "But I assure you, Mrs Lederer, I know nothing about research on small children. You must have been misinformed."

"I was not talking about toddlers, but merely children," Alabima answered him triumphantly, "you have betrayed yourself, Director."

"Children, infants, what's the difference?", Gerriosch immediately defended himself gruffly, "who told you such nonsense? Kidnapped babies here with us? That's completely absurd."

Alabima jumped up from her chair and bent over the meeting table, upset, to be as close as possible to Gerriosch's face.

"I didn't say anything about kidnapping either. Please explain to me, Fyodor Igarivich Gerriosch, how you come to speak about kidnapping babies when I am merely talking about children?"

You could tell the deputy director winced at his double mistake and had to collect himself for a plausible-sounding answer.

"These are infamous insinuations without any basis," he began his defence a little helplessly to gain more time, "I don't have to put up with that from you. In any case, I think your visit with us is already over. I must ask you to leave. Immediately."

With these words, Gerriosch stood up, went to the door, and pulled it open. Behind it, a younger man with a bald forehead and glasses became visible, who was about to knock. The deputy director flinched nervously at the sight of him, but immediately collected himself.

"Ah, Stjepan Wassil'iwitsch, I'm sorry to have asked you here, but we don't need you any more after all. The Lederer family just want to say goodbye. Please return to your place of work. Thank you very much.

Professor Korotkov's colleague looked curiously through the crack in the door at those present, as if expecting them to respond to Gerriosch's words. When they

did not reply, he simply said: "As you wish, Fyodor Igarivich.

And with that he turned away and disappeared from her sight.

"So?" the deputy director's request sounded like a threat, "are you going voluntarily or do I have to call security?"

They rose without a word, stepped out of the office, and walked back across the corridor and the courtyard to the istration building. When they ed the older man at the reception desk, he was on the phone, eyeing them with an annoyed expression. Gerriosch was probably giving him instructions to make sure they left the university grounds immediately.

*

"What do we do now?", Chufu asked the others belligerently as they sat back in the car.

"First of all, we're going back to the hotel," Jules decided, whereupon Alexei immediately started the engine and merged into the traffic with the Range Rover.

"Gerriosch's behaviour was at least very strange, if not treacherous. You probably hit the mark with your strange interrogation technique, Alabima, respect."

"It's all just coincidence or luck," his wife modestly rebuffed, "I didn't like that smug ass from the first moment I saw him and when he started chattering around so maliciously, I just bursts with angry. But can we derive anything for Alina and the other kidnapped children from his promises? Should we inform Volodya about it? Or will the police help us?"

"I would advise against both," Aleksej spoke up, "the police will do little or nothing against a state institute. And we should involve Vladimir Mikhailovich Sokolow as little as possible in this matter. He can open doors for us and, for example, also arrange for a thorough search of the institute by the police and the public prosecutor's office. But that will hardly help us. Because I don't believe that the children are here on the university grounds in the middle of the city. With all the students and visitors, a discovery would be far too likely."

Jules nodded in agreement.

"And what do you suggest instead?"

"We should grab Gerriosch tonight and question him in depth," was his honest answer, "he misspoke twice, got angry about it and then kicked us out. That makes it clear to me that he is directly involved with the abducted children or at least knows about them. We should find a secluded place outside the city where we can interrogate Gerriosch in peace."

Jules looked at Alexei from the side and tried to weigh up further options for action. Through Vladimir Sokolow, they could certainly call in the Russian judicial apparatus and set it in motion. But he did not expect anything from a search of the university. But if the public prosecutor's office were to initiate a

shadowing of the director, they would certainly lose a few valuable days. Whether this would even result in an arrest and subsequent interrogation was rather unlikely. After all, the kidnappers in Moscow had largely been eliminated by them and new deliveries of infants were therefore unlikely. If the deputy director was not personally involved in the abduction, transfer or subsequent care of the children, but only knew about it, there was also no reason for him to anyone by phone, neither the remaining people in Moscow nor the place where the children were taken. All official investigations then had to come to nothing.

"All right, then. I agree with your proposal, Alyosha. But we'll deliver you both, Alabima and Chufu, to the hotel first and only then go in search of a suitable place where we can question Gerriosch in peace tonight. After that we'll see."

They let Alabima and the protesting Chufu out in front of the hotel entrance and drove the Range Rover straight on towards the north. They reached an area of freshly built residential towers after a few minutes. The ground stretched for several kilometres along the highway. Here, a new satellite town of Saint Petersburg was being built with modern high-rise buildings, schools, and shopping facilities. Soon they also caught sight of some shell buildings on which no one seemed to be working at the moment. In any case, the usual excavators, cranes, and construction trucks were missing in their immediate vicinity. The site looked quite deserted, as if the project had been abandoned in the middle of it. Perhaps a state investment that had run out of money for the year? Another corpse of the state planned economy, as was still common in Russia even after perestroika?

They got out and examined one of the buildings more closely, could not find any recent traces of regular visitors or of homeless people in and around it. The nearest inhabited houses were more than three hundred metres away. It seemed to them an ideal place for the planned questioning of Gerriosch. Satisfied, they drove back to the hotel. Here, Chufu and Alabima had already tried to find out the deputy director's residential address via the internet, unfortunately without

success. His name could not be found in any directory accessible to them. Together with Jules and Aleksej, they now tried in Cyrillic, but found no Fyodor Igariwitsch Gerriosch.

"It's part of normal personal protection," said Alexei with a shrug, "since the war in Chechnya and the regular terrorist attacks in Moscow that went with it, tens of thousands of people considered important have been removed from all public s."

"Then I guess the only thing left for us to do is to tail the institute and follow Gerriosch when he goes home tonight," Jules decided, "Alyosha and I will lie in wait later this afternoon. Either we follow him to his flat or we intercept him somewhere on the way if an opportunity presents itself. We don't know if Gerriosch lives alone, so a raid at his home would be just as big a risk as if we hit him on the road. However, we will not be able to carry out the interrogation until late at night. We definitely do not want to meet any witnesses at the place of interrogation. You two need not stay up waiting for us, Chufu and Alabima, for it will certainly be long after midnight by the time we get back."

"Can't I come with you, Jules?" asked Chufu hopefully and pleadingly at the same time, "I don't want to just sit around, I want to finally do something for Alina."

"No, Chufu, absolutely not. I don't want you with me tonight. Instead, you could find out what other buildings and properties IFMO might have. There must be some research groups that have taken up residence elsewhere in the city or region. You may be able to find possible locations of the abducted children. There may also be other IFMO-d institutes or even private companies that we need to look into if the questioning of Gerriosch turns up nothing. Why don't you draw up a list of all the addresses within a radius of, say, two hundred kilometres around Saint Petersburg? Because if Gerriosch has nothing to tell us, we're stuck in a dead end."

"Other fathers are happy when their sons want to follow in their footsteps," Chufu grumbled discontentedly.

"Tonight, however, there will be no footsteps to be proud of and to see my son chasing after me," Jules returned bitingly.

*

They had been waiting for Gerriosch at Sytninskaya for two hours. The institute did not have an underground car park. But there were numerous parking spaces for employees and visitors scattered around the grounds. Most of them were marked Reserved, but only four of them were for the Institute's management, as they had found out on a walk. The four were next to each other and could thus be easily monitored. Only two of them were occupied.

A few minutes after six, the deputy director finally came out of the institute and headed for a newer, blue-green Lada Niva, got behind the wheel and immediately drove off. Alexei deftly threaded his way into the evening traffic and followed the car at some distance. Gerriosch avoided the city centre and they soon found themselves on an arterial road. Leaving the Kolpina industrial area on the right, they followed the motorway further and further south out of the city. After a little more than thirty kilometres, it was already half past six, the Lada finally turned off the motorway and headed for a petrol station with a shop a few hundred metres further on. Gerriosch did not stop at the petrol pumps, however, but parked a little to the side of the entrance. He didn't seem to need any petrol, probably just wanted to run a few errands in the shop. Jules nodded at Alexei.

"This is our chance. Why don't you park right next to him? Then we'll grab Gerriosch as soon as he gets back to his car."

Their Range Rover with Moscow licence plates could attract attention here near Saint Petersburg. But they hardly had to expect that the deputy director would immediately become suspicious at the sight of their car. He had not seen them with the car in the morning.

They both got out. Jules went to the petrol pumps and fiddled around with the water bucket and later with the air pump, discreetly watching the entrance to the shop. Aleksej, meanwhile, had crouched down and hidden behind the front of their car.

There was little activity at the petrol station at the moment. Only an elderly woman stopped her car at one of the pillars, got out and walked over to the toilets where she disappeared.

After a few minutes, Gerriosch came out of the shop, a magazine, and a bag in his hands, probably with snacks or other food. He strolled leisurely over to his car, looking relaxed and at peace with himself and the world. Jules followed at his back, quickly catching up with him. As the deputy director rummaged in his pocket for the car key, holding the magazine and shopping bag in his other hand, the Swiss called to him loudly: "A word, Fyodor Igarivich Gerriosch.

He flinched, startled, and turned to Jules, dumbfounded.

"Jules Ivanovich Lederer? What are you doing here? Have you been following

me?"

With the last question, he seemed to hear something behind his back or sense some danger, because he suddenly tried to whirl around. But even as he started to move, the heavy butt of Alexei's handgun hit him in the neck. The IFMO deputy director collapsed instantly but was caught under the armpits by Alexei before he fell completely to the ground. Jules yanked open the rear door to the Range Rover and together they hoisted the unconscious man into the back seat. Then they quickly gathered up his scattered purchases, throwing everything carelessly onto the floor of their vehicle. Aleksej was already walking around the bonnet and sat down in the driver's seat, while Jules swung himself into the back with Gerriosch and pulled the door into the lock. Then they first watched the petrol pumps, the shop, and the driveway with anticipation.

The elderly woman had just returned from the toilets, awkwardly unlocked her car, squatted down a bit and probably pulled the lever there for the fuel filler neck. The lid popped open, she walked around her car, grabbed the nozzle from the hook and clumsily inverted it into the pipe, then pushed up the switch on the pillar and clutched the handle to fill up. She stared down at the filler neck for a second or two, then looked up and let her gaze wander, also fixating once on the Range Rover from Moscow, but seeming more interested in the car and not its occupants, whom she probably couldn't make out at all behind the tinted rear window.

Alexei and Jules had taken two towels from the hotel, which Jules now tore into strips. He bound and gagged his prisoner thoroughly. Aleksej started the engine, leisurely backed up a bit, steered in and rolled the car without haste past the petrol pumps and onto the road, turning there towards the city. Jules watched the older woman through the rear window. She looked after them for a long time but showed no real interest. Then she turned her attention to another vehicle approaching the petrol station. The kidnapping of Gerriosch seemed to have worked.

After a few minutes, the deputy director woke up moaning softly.

"Please behave quietly, Fyodor Igarivich, otherwise I'll have to cosh you", Jules said to him gently and in Russian. The latter rolled his eyes anxiously and stared up at him but remained still on the back seat.

Alexei steered the car widely around the city centre, avoiding the motorway, which might have been monitored by cameras. He was also careful to avoid more densely populated areas with their traffic lights or traffic police at intersections where they would have had to stop for a long time. Their return journey took considerably longer, but they remained unmolested and undetected. It was well after nine o'clock in the evening and long since dusk when they arrived at the first new buildings of the housing estate. They stopped in a narrow parking bay on the access road and Aleksej switched off the engine. Gerriosch now tried to say something despite the gag in his mouth, but Jules could not understand.

"Please continue to be quiet, Deputy Director. I don't want to have to knock you unconscious again. We'll just wait here for a while until it's dark."

Gerriosch had bought some chocolate bars and other snacks at the petrol station shop, plus some tinned food. Jules picked the things up from the floor and offered them to Aleksej, who decided on salt sticks. They didn't speak to each other, just waited in the car. It was half past ten when they finally drove on to the selected shell. Aleksej parked the Range Rover close to the entrance. They got out, dragged Gerriosch to his feet and directed him into the house and down the stairs to the basement rooms.

Only when they were inside did they switch on their torches, which they had obtained in a shop that very afternoon and before returning to the hotel. The deputy director let them lead him without resistance. Either he was already a broken man who had surrendered to his fate or he was hardened and lurking for a chance, playing the sissy to them until then.

In the cone of light from the lamps, dirty and raw concrete walls and some rusty brown puddles on the floor appeared in the basement. It smelled quite unpleasantly of cement dust and machine oil. Alexei pushed the deputy director into a corner. He settled down there, groaning softly and somewhat awkwardly, on a dry piece of concrete floor and then looked up at them anxiously.

"Will you go for a walk around the house, Julja?" said Alexei to Jules, "we should make sure that we are not disturbed by anyone."

"You want to question him alone?"

"Yes, I think I should do it alone. You have a wife and children, Julja, and you shouldn't dirty your hands with blood unnecessarily."

Alexei's cold voice did not only make Jules shiver, because when he looked down at Gerriosch, the director looked at him with the fearful eyes of a rabbit afraid of a snake and seeking help from a dingo. Jules removed the gag from her prisoner's mouth and immediately the deputy director began to whine.

"Please, don't hurt me. I have done nothing wrong. Please."

Jules squatted down next to the director, looked earnestly into his wide eyes, which were full of fear.

"You have only one chance, Fyodor Igarivich," he spoke urgently to the abductee, "just tell my friend Alexey here everything you know about the abducted children. Don't let him have to torture or even torture them. Please believe me. I saw in Moscow how even an agent of the FSB revealed everything she knew. How else could we have come across you and your institute? Take your chance and talk. Save yourself unnecessary pain."

With that, Jules got up and left the cellar room, paying no attention to Gerriosch's useless attempt to hold him back by whining after all. Upstairs, the Swiss switched off his torch. The moon cast a little light into the shell of the building and so he walked leisurely from room to room on the ground floor, finding them all empty, as expected. He climbed the stairs and checked the first floor, then the second. But no one had been here for weeks either. He left the building and slowly skirted it at a distance of twenty, thirty metres. The moon bathed the entire area in a leaden, eerie light and since it was already high in the sky, the tall shell of the building cast only a narrow, black shadow. All was quiet in the immediate vicinity. Only from the highway did the traffic roar to him. Somewhere, far away, a dog barked a few times. Jules was about to return to the house and the basement room when Alexei stepped out of the building.

"Has Gerriosch confessed yet?"

"Yes, he told me everything he knew, I'm sure of it. You scared him so much with your words that he no longer offered any resistance. I now know the place where the children were taken. But we'd better get into the car first. We don't want anyone to overhear us out here."

The two men sat down in the Range Rover and Jules asked his friend: "Why didn't you bring Gerriosch back up right away? What are we going to do with him after you've squeezed him? We should at least make him disappear for a few days so that we can follow his clues in peace. Do you think he'll stay here in the basement undiscovered that long? We could bring him something to eat and drink in the morning, maybe have to chain him somehow so he can't disappear."

"That's no longer necessary, Jules. His body is in the sewage collector under the boiler room. I've weighted it down with a few bricks so that it's completely submerged. The sludge down there is so thick you'd have to dive to spot it. Unless someone lifts the manhole, cover, and pumps out the water, no one will find him. Even the stench of his decomposition will remain bearable and hardly cause a stir," said Aleksej completely coldly.

Jules looked inquiringly into the face of his companion. The Swiss was horrified by this latest murder and scolded himself for leaving Alexei alone in the cellar with the deputy director. But in the end, Jules could understand the Russian all too well. Vigilante justice was the only way to get retribution for the murder of his twin brother Alexandr. Nevertheless, Jules blamed himself greatly.

"Was that really necessary, Alyosha?" he asked the Russian urgently, "to murder a deputy director of the IFMO? Gerriosch didn't have the stature to be the driving force behind the kidnappings of the infants, the attack on us and the murder of Sascha. He was surely only a middleman, a stooge and follower in a larger organisation."

Only after some hesitation did Alexei answer, staring straight ahead through the windscreen, not looking at Jules, when he said, trembling with anger between his teeth: "He was deeply involved in the matter, you can believe me, Julja. He was merely acting on behalf of others, but he was completely unscrupulous in doing everything he was asked to do. He was a human pig without conscience and he deserved to die."

Then he started the engine and forced the Range Rover back onto the road rather roughly. His driving style showed how agitated he still was despite his harsh words. Jules wondered for the first time in what way this exceedingly bloody search for Alina could still end happily for her.

*

On the way back to their hotel, Aleksej enlightened him about Gerriosch's confession.

"He spoke of a research laboratory located about four hundred kilometres northeast of Saint Petersburg, near the city of Petrozavodsk. Gerriosch received his instructions from there, especially orders to procure human material, as he put it. He ed on the orders from there to the kidnappers in Moscow by telephone. Incidentally, not only babies are kidnapped, but also older children or even adults from time to time, although in the case of the latter it is probably mainly homeless people who are not missed by anyone. The FSB people in Moscow always reported to Gerriosch when another delivery was made. One of the few assistants in the know then drove to Moscow, picked up the abductees there and brought them to this research laboratory in Petrozavodsk. Only twice is Gerriosch said to have driven himself."

"And who is receiving the people there? Who is behind this mess?", Jules interjected as a first question.

"Gerriosch and his assistant had to hand over the abductees at the gate and drive

straight back, they were not allowed to enter the compound. He only spoke to a few of the guards there. Incidentally, he claimed that he and his assistant had been forced to cooperate by FSB agents in Moscow. They had threatened to kill them and their entire families if they did not cooperate. But why the FSB chose him and the IFMO to do the dirty work, he didn't know, couldn't make sense of it. But to me it all sounded more like a stupid excuse. In any case, Gerriosch claims to have received his orders from Petrozavodsk by telephone from a Professor Karubelsky. He introduced himself to him as the head of research there. However, his voice was always distorted so that Gerriosch could not say for sure whether he knew the man personally. What other reason would the distortionist have had? Gerriosch made enquiries about this Karubelsky but could find out nothing about the man. He was completely unknown in academic circles. The name is certainly fictitious. Incidentally, Gerriosch defended himself more than once to me with the argument that the research work in Petrozavodsk was taking place for the benefit of the Russian state and that the sacrifices of children and homeless people in the service of science were therefore entirely justifiable. He was a pig and deserved to die, Julja, if you still have doubts. He was just a follower, but once his initial misgivings were allayed, he all too quickly became a useful and utterly ruthless tool. Perhaps that is why they chose him? Professor Korotkov, by the way, has nothing whatsoever to do with the abductions, the laboratory, and the research work there. At least that is what Gerriosch claimed. However, they seem to be using his gas discharge visualisation technique for some purpose in Petrozavodsk, because Gerriosch had to deliver one of these devices there."

"Did Gerriosch know anything about Alina?"

"Yes. He was called at the Institute yesterday morning. Karubelsky informed him about a rush order. Gerriosch had to send his assistant to Moscow right after the phone call because a new shipment for Petrozavodsk would be ready as early as this afternoon, a single child."

"What was that?", Jules wanted to make sure, "Gerriosch was informed about a

new delivery on Monday morning, many hours before Alina was kidnapped?"

"Yes, at least that's what Gerriosch told me. It was the first time he had been byed in the transmission of orders to Moscow. He therefore first called the FSB agents to make sure that they already had all the instructions. The agents confirmed to him that they had received the documents on the target through a courier service early on Monday morning. However, they were quite angry on the phone and talked about this kidnapping being far too elaborate and too dangerous. Gerriosch would have sent his assistant anyway and he was able to carry out the job without any problems.

"We just missed Alina in Moscow by a few hours?"

Jules' voice sounded tired and burnt out for the first time. If he had gone in search of his daughter immediately after the robbery, he might have been ahead of Alina's removal. This realisation was devastating for him.

"Gerriosch didn't know that we had taken out the agents in Moscow last night. That's why he didn't suspect anything at the moment when we went to see him this morning, especially because the authorisation for our visit came directly from the Ministry of Research. Only when Alabima asked directly about the abducted children did he realise that we might have something to do with the urgent order from the day before. After we left, he informed Petrozavodsk about our visit and asked for new orders. However, they would have reassured him and allayed his concerns."

"The guys there are warned but don't know that we know about them?" mused Jules aloud.

"Exactly. Gerriosch didn't talk to his assistants about our visit either, as he assured me. You see, Jules, those were reasons enough to kill Gerriosch and hide him. That's the only way we can be sure that the rats in Petrozavodsk won't suspect anything for the time being."

"Yes, the dead Gerriosch really increases our chances, even if I still find this murder unnecessary. But what has happened cannot be reversed. We have to get to Petrozavodsk as quickly as possible to take advantage of the lead. Because the next time Gerriosch is ed and he is not found, they will become suspicious. If we leave tomorrow morning, we should probably get there by early afternoon. Or how do you see it?"

"It's only a four-hour drive because the motorway is continuous all the way to Petrozavodsk. So early afternoon is definitely possible if we don't start too late.

"Very well. Then let's inform Alabima and Chufu and then go to sleep. I have a feeling that you and I will have to spend the night tomorrow as well."

Friday, 29 August 2008

"Hi, Jules, good to see you alive again."

From Henry's voice, Jules could sense a genuine and warm joy but also the serious concern.

"Hello, Henry, I too am very pleased."

Jules was once again sitting in the back of Henry's Bentley and had briefly squeezed his hand over his right shoulder. After arriving at Heathrow, Jules boarded the Underground first. His two shadows from Scotland Yard thus had to leave their car at the airport and ride along. But at the first station, Hounslow West, Jules had already got off the train. The two agents followed him, but stayed behind angrily as he boarded the taxi, which had already been ordered by telephone earlier, outside the station, while the two could not find a second one. Jules had himself driven via Bedfort to Ashford and there to the golf club. He got out at the fifth hole and walked across the meadow to the opposite road, where Henry was waiting for him with his car. Scotland Yard would probably continue to learn nothing from Jules' London confidant, even if they were to track down and squeeze the taxi driver later.

"Why are you wearing your left arm in a sling?"

"It's another little souvenir from Russia, it's just a clean shot through the shoulder. But I can already move the arm quite well again, I actually only wear

the sling to stabilise it when I'm out and about. I've even been diving in the lake again with Chufu."

"And how are you otherwise?"

"It's so damn hard without Alabima. And the loss of Alina is even more painful. How I would have loved to see her grow up, become a child, a teenager, an adult. I have lost too much through Moscow."

Jules' words sounded wistful and his voice was full of trepidation.

"And there's nothing to be done? With Alabima, I mean?"

"She doesn't forgive me for dragging her and the children to Russia and thus putting them in danger. And above all, she no longer sees a future with me as long as I continue to earn my money by clearing up secrets and taking on dangerous assignments. She now lives back in Addis Ababa. At least that's what her parents told me on the phone. Alabima, on the other hand, refuses to talk to me."

"I am truly sorry for you, Jules."

"Thank you, Henry. I'll manage somehow. Weeds don't die."

Jules pulled a cloth from his jacket pocket and wiped his moist eyes. He had by no means come to with the loss of his daughter and wife, as his tears made clear. On most days, he could tell himself that everything had had to happen this way and that there was little he could do about their fate. But that did not really help him. On the contrary. In the quiet hours, it seemed to him that the pain grew from week to week, holding him more and more captive. But now he had nevertheless travelled to London once again to meet with Henry and coordinate the further course of action with him. He cleared his throat.

"But enough of that, Henry. Let's get down to business. Waffle has retreated with the entire family to his holiday home in the Bahamas after his departure. It's not far from Nassau. Do you know anyone who lives nearby whom I could entrust with a somewhat delicate task?"

Huxley did not think for long.

"Some of my good acquaintances live in the Bahamas. But if you're looking for someone particularly trustworthy, my old friend Gregory would be the first choice. He is spending his retirement in Nassau."

"His twilight years? How old is he?"

"Oh, he'll probably be fifty-five this year. But six years ago, he sold everything he owned here in England and moved to the Bahamas with his wife. He rents motorboats to deep-sea fishermen there."

"Would he collect some money for me?"

"Yes, I'm sure he'd be happy to take on a job like that. There's nothing illegal about it, is there?"

"Let's just say it's a grey area."

"A shakedown?"

Henry's voice sounded disappointed.

"No, just compensation for my expenses. Waffle is to pay for the efforts of the detective agency I put on him."

"Ah, then I see no problem. How much is it?"

"Four hundred thousand dollars."

"At that amount, Gregory's fee should be five per cent if that's all right with you. Is there anything he can hand over to Waffle as proof?"

Jules nodded.

"On this piece of paper, I have written down the link to an Internet forum. Your friend should there with the name SOCRATES and the EDELWEISS. Then he will be shown a single, personal thread. In it he will find my exact instructions and various files to . These are written records of incriminating telephone calls and also two recordings of conversations. The easiest way for your friend is to the data onto a USB stick. He can give it to Waffle later. I think the banker will accept the compensation for expenses without grumbling and won't make any trouble."

"Okay, I will inform my friend today."

"Fine. I'll delete the thread with the files twenty-four hours after SOCRATES logs on to the forum. Surely your friend won't get the idea of expanding my business with Waffle with a little blackmail of his own?"

"No, definitely not. You can rely on him. He hasn't done anything crooked for a long time. He would have had plenty of opportunities for that here in London. He did keep his head above water for a while as a young man with the nephew scam, but that was so long ago that it's hardly true anymore. Today I put my hand in the fire for him."

Jules seemed reassured and Henry now came to another point that was particularly close to his heart: "The pressure on your big bank is constantly increasing, as one hears in the press, especially when I think of Cuomo, the New York State Attorney General".

"Yes, it is. Many hounds are the death of rabbits, as the saying goes. But the prosecutor is just looking out for his political career and probably has nothing to do with the CIA or the IRS. He is just a typical freeloader. He has also sued Citigroup and other American banks over the auction rate securities. It is

particularly embarrassing for the swiss bank that its chief lawyer in the USA have sold panic-dumping its own ARS investments, while at the same time his employer still talking them up to the clients. But the ARS are unlikely to trigger additional write-offs because the debtors are all solvent. The bank could also quickly get out of the firing line with its willingness to take back most of the papers at face value. So apart from a small fine, the ARS are currently only tying up liquidity and equity but can certainly be quickly ed on to a hedge fund at a small discount."

"Should I continue to hold my shares in the bank? Your tip was spot on and since I bought them a few weeks ago, they've already risen by over twenty percent."

"I expect a significant setback in the global stock markets by the end of the year, around thirty to fifty percent. The cooling economy will leave its mark on the overly optimistic forecasts of companies. You'd better sell all your shares and get back in in six months' time, when the fear of a severe global recession will be at its greatest. There will certainly be an interim rally later in the year, which may last until December. Everything else then depends on the actual economic development and also on what the central banks intend to do with interest rates. But for the next few years they will have no choice but to open the money taps and push interest rates to zero. I myself also underestimated the financial crisis at the beginning and am therefore glad for this interim high on the stock markets. But in the medium term, for the next few months, things look really bleak. The banks have by no means cleaned up their balance sheets and are probably all praying for a favourable turnaround on the financial markets. But it won't happen fast enough for them. The first corrections in the valuations of subprime securities have already attacked the equity of most banks. That is why they now have to reduce risks. They will have to cut credit limits, especially to hedge funds. As a result, hedge funds will sell off their securities in large numbers, which in turn will lead to lower prices. And this will put additional pressure on the banks' balance sheets. A dangerous, prolonged downward spiral will set in. It can only be stopped by the national banks and the governments through state guarantees. If you sell in the next few days and get in cheaper in a few months, you will be able to at least double your money within three years, if not triple it, I am absolutely sure. It's the financials that will be punished in this crisis but will

rise in price particularly strongly once the recession is over."

"Thanks for the tips. I will sell my shares next and buy them back in half a year. And how's your Project 32 doing? The next interim report is due at the end of October, as far as I'm informed?"

"Yes, we will meet again on the twenty-ninth. We are making good progress overall and are largely back on schedule. Cartwright and Johannson have finally received the permits for their excavations in the south of Yemen. They will probably be able to start at the end of November. If everything works out, this will bring us a weighty step forward. And the team in the South Pacific has received new impetus with their new sub-project leader Jeffry Osiga. They are currently compiling everything that can be found in the libraries and port s about the Chinese expeditions at lightning speed. I hope in a few weeks we will really know more."

The decade project of the Grand Lodge in London had been led by Jules as supreme leader for over seven years. Whether the task could be solved within ten years by the end of 2009, however, was uncertain. Unravelling an almost six hundred year old legend was more than challenging. Until the loss of Alina and Alabima, Jules had put a lot of energy and perseverance into the project. But now, without his family, it had largely flagged. He continued to feel his responsibility towards the United Masonic Lodges of Great Britain, but at the same time he felt less and less able to guide the sub-project leaders and bring about decisions in the best possible way.

Only after the loss of his daughter and wife did he really realise how much they enriched his life. Without them, all the other parts of his life visibly faded.

*

Henry had kept his word and called in his acquaintance Gregory in the Bahamas. The very next morning, Jules found the registration confirmation of SOCRATES in the s' section of the Internet forum. Gregory had been logged in for about half an hour, time enough to all the files. Jules deleted the special thread along with the ID.

Henry's old friend worked most efficiently, for only four days later Jules received a letter from the Boden- und Kreditbank in Zurich. It said that a bank cheque for three hundred and eighty thousand dollars had been received for him and was ready for collection. Jules would probably visit Zurich this week.

*

Gregory Harding, the tanned, comfortable-looking boat rental man from Nassau, got out of his Jeep Wrangler with the heavily tinted windows and first blinked against the bright sun. Despite the constant gusts, it was already quite hot that morning. Harding wore an olive green linen shirt and khaki shorts, along with rugged Belleville Desert boots. He pushed his sunglasses down from his forehead to the bridge of his nose. His reddish-blond hair was still very thick but showed many grey-white patches. He wore it short like a soldier. In general, the man looked like a retired military man in his boots, tros, and shirt.

Anyone who saw Henry Huxley as a bone-dry reconnaissance officer operating with his squad behind enemy lines in the Hindu Kush would have been more likely to suspect Gregory Harding of being an iron-hard jungle fighter, a veteran of the Korean War to whom neither swamp nor constant monsoon rain nor

enemy fire could do much harm.

Harding opened the garden gate to the Waffles' villa, entered and carefully closed it behind him. The Swiss banker lived here incognito and without his own security concept. The Bahamas was no place for crime. The Briton rang the front doorbell briefly, waited for three seconds, then pressed the button again, this time longer. Footsteps could be heard behind the door, then a younger woman in work clothes, probably the housekeeper, opened it.

"Yes, please?" she asked cautiously, trying to make out the visitor's eyes behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses.

"Might I have a word with Mr Waffle?" asked Harding kindly, letting his worn and somewhat discoloured but still full teeth show between his lips, looking irresistibly young at that moment.

"Who may I report?"

"Socrates is my name," Harding returned with a smile.

"And on what matter would you like to speak to Mr Waffle, Mr Socrates?"

"Please tell him I'm from the IRS."

The housekeeper pushed the door against the frame but not back into the lock, leaving a narrow gap open through which Harding could see a marble-lined hallway.

He pressed lightly against the door leaf and it swung open further, revealing a decidedly cool and business-like entrance hall. A lone Moorish table stood against one wall, above it hung a polished mirror with a European gold frame. The two things did not match in of year of origin, culture, or colours. However, as they were the only splashes of colour in the hall of light marble and whitewashed walls, the picture was still quite bearable.

The housekeeper returned and invited him in, leading him to a room that Waffle probably used as an office. A desk with a carcass and cabinet by USM, an oversized-looking high leather chair, a desktop computer with a screen and mouse, and a laser printer formed the workplace. A conference table with four chairs completed the furnishings. All the furniture and even the office machines were in boring black. Bankers were usually not people with imagination.

"Please sit down," the housekeeper invited him and pointed to the chairs at the meeting table. Harding settled down on one. The woman went and pulled the door shut behind her, but only leaned it against the frame.

Half a minute later, the energetic footsteps of a macher could be heard in the corridor outside, two seconds later Waffle entered. The banker's expression was one of displeasure and annoyance. At the same time, however, Harding recognised an uncertain, nervous flicker in the Swiss's eyes.

"What's this nonsense about Socrates and the IRS?", Waffle barked at his visitor, "where do you get off calling on me here in my house anyway? Are you a journalist? Or what? I have a good mind to call the police."

Gregory Harding stood up and looked at the Swiss calmly and level-headedly. The Briton was still a bit taller than the towering Swiss. Then Harding pulled the sunglasses off his nose, folded them up leisurely and hung them in his shirt pocket, examining the banker with a level gaze.

"Of course, my name is not Socrates and I am not from the IRS. Nor do I have anything to do with newspapers or the public. But we have a mutual acquaintance, Mr Waffle. He has asked me to on to you something that I am sure will be of burning interest to you."

The banker looked at his visitor suspiciously and dismissively. Harding wordlessly pulled the memory stick out of his tro pocket and handed it to the former banker.

"Please look at the files on it, Mr Waffle. You will find in them the reason why I came to you."

The banker reached for the data carrier, sat down behind his desk with a wry look at Harding and switched on the computer. While it booted up, the Swiss held the Briton with a piercing gaze, trying to get a picture of this uninvited visitor.

"I'm completely harmless," Harding said with a smile, but his eyes and challenging gaze spoke against it. Waffle felt uncomfortable, only becoming aware of how physically superior the Briton was to him in the face of his powerful upper body.

Finally, the banker was able to insert the memory stick, called up the first file on the screen and read for a few seconds, glanced briefly at his visitor, opened the next file, and read again.

Waffle proceeded very methodically, skimming over each of the documents, getting a picture in this way of the knowledge that his visitor and his backer had gathered about him. When he had started one of the telephone conversations and listened to it for two seconds, he turned the sound of the computer down sharply so that not a word of it could be heard in the hallway of the villa.

Waffle pushed his leather chair back a little and stared up at the ceiling, a little lost, while he listened to the voices. Then he reached for the mouse again, selected all the files on the stick, pressed the Delete button on the keyboard, switched directly to the electronic trash box and repeated the process there. Then he pulled the memory stick out of the computer, dropped it on the floor and kicked hard with the heel of his black leather low shoes, breaking the data storage device. Only then did he get up, outwardly completely calm, and sit down at the conference table with Harding.

The banker's pupils jerked around erratically, reflecting the inner agitation and the wild trains of thought raging in his brain. In addition, the corners of his mouth and his lower jaw twitched uncontrollably, as if he had to chew stones. Several times he started to speak, still visibly shaken by the fact that someone had found out all about his family's years of blackmail and had even collected evidence about it.

"You spoke of a mutual acquaintance?" asked a brittle voice that seemed strangely alien even to himself, the former CEO of the major bank, "who is this and what do you want from me?"

Harding felt sorry for the man. The Briton had not looked at or listened to the ed files. He basically did not want to know what to press this man with. He trusted Henry Huxley completely on this point. But the telephone conversation he had heard and Waffle's violent reaction now showed him how solid the evidence against the banker had to be.

"You have never met or spoken to the man personally, as far as I know, Mr Waffle. But he seems to know you quite well. He asked me to collect his expenses for the wiretapping at your private home in Switzerland."

"And how much is that supposed to be?"

The banker's voice regained firmness and aggressiveness. He expected blackmail, was obviously counting on fantasy amounts, was inwardly preparing himself for a tough but ultimately completely useless negotiation.

"Four hundred thousand American dollars," Harding said dryly, "I'll accept a check from you as well."

Waffle looked at his visitor in amazement.

"Only four hundred thousand? What kind of trick is that?"

"No trick. You pay the costs of the electronic surveillance. After that, you will never hear from me or my client again."

Wetting the tip of his tongue on his upper lip, which had become dry, the former banker thought for a moment. Inwardly, he had already seen himself and his family dragged into the public eye, overwhelmed with accusations of how he could have deliberately harmed his employer in such a serious way, why he had not gone to the police, why he had not immediately resigned from his post as CEO. Until now, he had really only been accused of naivety and incompetence in Switzerland. With the evidence of the threat from the American secret service, he would at least be accused of cowardice or even an intention to defraud. How small the price for his acquittal seemed to him? He decided to take the plunge.

"All right. I'll write you a cheque for the amount. But what guarantees can you give me that I will never hear from you again?"

Harding smiled mockingly at the former banker: "Men of honour, Mr Waffle, always keep their word."

2007, Summer

Everywhere you suddenly read about the subprime crisis. Finally, people had woken up from the high of real estate speculation. The world began to prepare for the coming nightmare of financing this bubble.

It was heard that some hedge funds had bet on a recession this year and thus on the bursting of the speculative bubble in the housing market in the USA. They had already made huge profits and were likely to make much more in the coming months.

It would later be learned that the most successful hedge fund manager was able to rake in an unimaginable 3.7 billion dollars in success fees in that one year alone. The sum corresponded to a good two million dollars for each of his working hours and thus probably the highest hourly wage ever paid in the history of mankind.

The ten most successful fund managers had together earned more than seventeen billion dollars that year. How much that actually was could only be vividly visualised by converting.

The 1.7 billion dollars profit of each of the ten fund managers corresponded to the equivalent of at least three thousand single-family houses. At the end of the year, each of them had become richer by an entire village with ten thousand inhabitants.

Such huge incomes could only be achieved because hedge fund managers collected an average of twenty per cent of the profits earned as management fees and success fees. these ten managers alone had thus increased the value of their funds by at least eighty-five billion dollars in this one year of the financial crisis. This amount corresponded to the equivalent of a city with five hundred thousand inhabitants.

When such huge fortunes of only ten people changed hands in such a short time, many millions of other people had to bleed heavily for it.

*

In June, the major bank announced that it had parted company with the chairman of its executive board, Franz Waffel, with immediate effect. By mutual agreement, it was noted. It was agreed not to disclose the reasons.

*

Herrliberg, 7 July 2007, 8:30am, telephone call, Mr Waffel answers:

*Start of the conversation

Caller: Good morning Mr Waffle. I just wanted to let you know that we are extremely satisfied with your work. As promised, you can now freely dispose of

a credit balance of fifty million dollars at the Central Bank of The Bahamas. The number and will be mailed to you in the next few days. Enjoy the rest of your life with your family.

Waffle: You know very well that I don't want this dirty money. I just want you to leave my family and me alone.

*end of conversation*

Notes: The caller disconnected before Waffle finished his last sentence. The caller spoke American English with a strong southern tinge, probably having grown up in southeast Texas, in the Houston area. Mr Waffel took a few deep, heavy breaths after the conversation before hanging up as well.

Jules received this message from the detective agency a few days later. This closed the circle and Jules had the surveillance of the banker and his family terminated. In due course, he would reclaim his expenses for the surveillance directly from Waffle. But there were still other, more important priorities for him.

*

"We have a new problem."

There was a hint of annoyance in the Texan's cool voice on the other end of the

line. The fact that he had not called the congressman by name indicated a lively exchange between the two.

"In what way?"

The nasal voice sounded cold and gruff.

"We cannot put pressure on the Swiss government. At least not yet."

"What do you mean?"

The Texan cleared his throat in embarrassment.

"Well, the Swiss authorities are in possession of extensive evidence from Pakistan's nuclear programme."

"I don't understand."

Still the senator's voice was completely calm, even cold, as if the matter did not concern him.

"Well, sir, how shall I put this? One was thirty years ago, the second is more recent. And both of them weigh heavily on the US government."

On the other hand, it remained silent for a moment, either out of stupefaction or anger.

"Speak plainly, man, if you already want something from me," the nasal voice then croaked into the receiver.

"Sir, when the communists took power in Afghanistan in 1978 and the Soviet Union invaded shortly afterwards with troops to them, future President George Bush used his former s as head of the CIA to provide Pakistan with technical documentation for building nuclear bombs. He thus achieved a strong acceleration of the long-running programmes and Pakistan was able to build its first bomb as early as 1979. A counterweight to the Soviet Union was established and the already planned further advance of the Russians towards the Indian Ocean was successfully stopped."

"And these thirty-year-old documents are supposed to incriminate the US government? It should be clear that Pakistan was supplied with technical knowledge by one of the major nuclear powers, just as North Korea was supplied by China. None of these countries could have done this on their own."

"That's true, sir. But unfortunately, after the September 11 attacks, President Bush's son, George W., decided to secure the of Pakistan. To this end, the CIA was ordered to hand over the plans of the latest US weapons technology to Pakistan. And these documents, too, are now in the hands of the Swiss government."

Now the senator's amazement hung almost physically palpable between the two listeners.

"Are you saying that the United States government helped Pakistan get the latest technology for nuclear bombs, and in the process put US security at risk?"

"Exactly, sir."

"And how did this evidence get into the hands of the Swiss authorities in the first place?"

The sound in the nasal's voice showed incomprehension and aggression.

"Well, sir, we later put a certain Urs Tinner, a Swiss, on Abdul Kadir Khan. Khan is considered the father of the Pakistani atomic bomb and the Tinner family has been close to him for many years. Urs Tinner succeeded in stealing the documents, but he was arrested by the Swiss authorities a little later."

"And the Swiss government now has files in its hands that prove that the US government is not only behind Pakistan's nuclear programme from the 1970s, but that George W. equipped them with the latest technology?" the nasal returned to the core of the problem.

"Yes, sir."

"Holy shit."

Both men were silent for a moment, the Texan because he was waiting for the other's answer, the senator because he first had to think carefully about the next steps.

"One thing is clear," the nasal voice began again, "the president must prevent the publication of these documents by any means necessary. The IRS can't go after the Swiss until the files are destroyed."

"I agree with you, sir."

"Very well. I want to see how this can be done."

*

The four men met in a back room of the Capital Grille. The steakhouse, like many other restaurants in Washington, was swept for bugs every week by the Secret Service. They could talk here without being disturbed.

"Thank you for finding time for my request," began the senator with the nasal voice, "the reason for my invitation lies in a somewhat delicate problem."

The three high-ranking government representatives looked at the parliamentarian with a wait-and-see attitude.

"As I am sure you are aware, the Swiss government has incriminating documents on Pakistan's nuclear weapons programme."

The three listeners looked at each other in amazement and concern. They were visibly embarrassed that the senator also knew about it.

"Personally, it is important to me that these files are destroyed as quickly as possible. And I think that is also in your interest, gentlemen."

The three nodded in agreement.

"Here's what I've been thinking about. We have to put a lot of pressure on the Swiss government, but in such a way that they don't realise that we are behind it. We could rush to their aid later and negotiate a deal with them, for example that we them in return for them destroying the documents."

It began to work in the heads of the three government officials. Then one of them took the floor: "Well, the easiest way to do this is probably through the OECD. This organisation has been working for many years on the question of how to combat tax havens worldwide. I suggest we have an initiative launched that targets Switzerland."

"In addition, I am sure I can persuade some European governments to take a tougher stance against Switzerland," the representative of the Foreign Ministry spoke up, " will certainly play along, probably Italy and as well. These three countries are the Alpine republic's most important trading partners

and if they cough hard, the Swiss will start to dress warmly."

"Once they are softened up, we can act as white knights, promise them to at least let the OECD activities fall asleep. Without our consent, the OECD Council would not write a paper against Switzerland's interests anyway. The government there knows that and they will certainly be grateful to us for that."

"Then we are in agreement, gentlemen?"

"Yes, I think the White House will give us full backing. The unsolved problem with the nuclear files has been on Dick's mind for a long time. He'll be glad when it's settled."

With that, the four men took their leave. The excellent steaks remained untouched on the plates.

Thursday, 26 June 2008

They were all still having breakfast together and Chufu had just taken the third plate of pancakes. A cook was working behind two hot plates next to the richly laid buffet. He prepared egg dishes freshly according to the wishes of the hotel guests. Spread with butter and doused with maple syrup, pancakes had long been an integral part of Chufu's hotel life, whether they were in London, Paris, or Moscow. Here in Saint Petersburg, however, he had to make do with liquid honey, as there was no maple syrup available. The pancakes were also not sweet, as he was used to, but savoury and quite salty. Nevertheless, Jules looked enviously at his adopted son and watched him with increasing annoyance as the willowy Philippine stuffed these quantities of fat, protein, and carbohydrates into himself without remorse.

"You'll get hit one day, Chufu," he suddenly said reprovingly, "one day food like this hits everyone's hips and stomach. Or your cholesterol level will go through the roof. You're just torturing your young body with food like that. Look at Alabima. A piece of bread with some cheese and then a small bowl of pickled fruit. That's what I call a sensible breakfast."

"I can well understand your envy, Julja," his son returned with a wry smile, "as Wilhelm Busch wrote so well? Envy is the sincerest form of recognition. I therefore thank you especially for your words. Shall I perhaps bring you some low-fat curd cheese or a piece of cottage cheese from the buffet when I go to get the fourth portion of pancakes?

Aleksej and Jules had not told Alabima and Chufu any details about the abduction and murder of Gerriosch. But based on their evasive answers, the two were able to piece together that the deputy director of the IFMO was no longer

alive. The banter between Chufu and Jules was more an expression of strong uncertainty and alienation. For there was a big difference between being told that a few completely unknown people had been killed and knowing the person personally.

At that moment, Vladimir Sokolow entered the hotel's breakfast room. The wiry man in his mid-sixties immediately attracted the attention of most of the guests, as he entered with much élan and a superior smile on his face, stopped briefly and looked around, saw the four sitting at the table and immediately made his way to them with energetic steps. Jules had recognised him right at the entrance, stood up in surprise and took a few steps towards him.

"Volodya? You here? How come?"

"A phone call to the police chief here in St. Petersburg was all it took. That's the advantage of our Russian bureaucracy, where every hotel guest has to with their ID. You can easily find people again if you are looking for them. I had myself flown here this morning so that I could you on the spot if necessary. Your kidnapped daughter just doesn't give Ira and me any peace because we feel partly responsible for this robbery. You can hardly imagine how much we reproach ourselves. Why didn't we give you four or six men right from the start? Ira and I believe that some evil thing from your past has caught up with you. Or maybe the kidnappers really want to meet me? You have been identified as friends of the family and are now taking revenge on us through Alina. But no matter who the kidnappers are and what their intentions are. Together with the authorities we should be able to find the girl quickly. Come, let's sit down with Labi and Chufu. I could do with a cup of coffee too."

Alabima let Vladimir give him a quick hug and Chufu just grinned wryly at the oligarch's pat on the back.

Some of the local guests had also long since recognised the billionaire often shown on television and were whispering excitedly to each other. Others, however, seemed to see him merely as an important personality. Especially the few foreign hotel guests kept peering over to their table, bluntly and curiously, while the locals held back.

Customers for stupid paparazzi photos and ridiculous press gossip, Jules thought disgustedly as he looked around.

After the oligarch sat down with them, greeting Alexei rather frostily, the bodyguard stood up without hesitation and excused himself. As an employee of the billionaire, it would never have occurred to him to stay at the same table as Sokolow. The latter must have taken the bodyguard's behaviour just as much for granted, because he merely nodded absent-mindedly but affirmatively at him, as if his dog had demonstrated the rehearsed trick perfectly for the seventeenth time and he threw him another treat without thinking. Condoling his employee on the loss of his brother did not occur to Sokolow for a moment.

In the meantime, two of the oligarch's bodyguards had arrived at the entrance to the breakfast room. They peeped in suspiciously and examined the faces of the guests in turn, which triggered whispering at the tables.

"So, what did you learn at the institute? Was Professor Korotkov able to help you? Is there any further information about the whereabouts of little Alina?"

The oligarch looked at the Lederer family tensely.

"Unfortunately not," Jules lied. The Swiss didn't want to drag his Russian friend

any deeper into Alexei's murders. The fewer people knew about it, the easier it was to get out of the mess unscathed. A murder charge would inevitably lead all those who knew about it to pre-trial detention, where they would have to wait two, maybe three years for a trial. A life sentence would be almost certain, given Gerriosch's rather high istrative position. No, Jules was not allowed to inform Vladimir about it and thus endanger him as well.

"Professor Korotkov is unfortunately on holiday this week and next. But we were received by the deputy director, one Fyodor Igarivich Gerriosch. And from him, unfortunately, we have not been able to find out anything. It seems as if the trail is lost here in Saint Petersburg. Maybe the tip in Moscow was just a ruse to lure us out of the city. Labi, Chufu and I don't know what we can and should do at the moment.

"Should I apply for a search of the institute through the Minister of Justice? It will only cost me a short phone call."

"Thank you, Volodya, but that is certainly not necessary. If the abducted children were indeed taken to St Petersburg, they were hardly housed on the university grounds. There is simply too much going on there for that, with all the students and foreign visitors. I think it might be the most sensible thing to do if we return to Moscow today and start the search for Alina all over again."

"Then maybe the kidnappers are just interested in money after all?"

Sokolow's voice took on a hopeful tone.

"You know yourself, Julja, how widespread kidnapping and extortion

unfortunately still are among many peoples of the USSR. The Chechens, for example, were already a real plague in this respect in the times of the tsars. And that has hardly improved to this day. But the Georgians, Kazakhs, Uzbeks, and Ukrainians are hardly inferior to them either. Ultimately, all these peoples are nothing more than dregs, incapable of advancing themselves economically. The benefits of the USSR were never really understood by these people, they merely made them defiant. For decades they lived at the expense of the Russian people, were ed, and promoted by us in all respects, istered to the best of our ability and advanced culturally. Thanks to our Russian drive, these backward provinces have benefited greatly from our intellect. Nevertheless, in recent years they have turned further and further away from us, the ungrateful pack. They are even trying to become completely independent of us with the help of the West."

The billionaire had talked himself into a frenzy, seemed to have completely forgotten little Alina at the moment, sitting at the table like that with angry eyes, searching with his eyes for agreement with his words in the faces of the others.

"All these countries were conquered by Russia in the course of the last four hundred years, weren't they?" Alabima nevertheless interjected pugnaciously, before Jules could onish her to be careful with a glance. True, his wife was hugely worried about Alina. But she found this unnecessary verbal attack by the ageing oligarch against the former constituent states of the Soviet Union distasteful. As a proud Ethiopian, she simply had to oppose these words.

"Of course, we had to defeat them first. But afterwards they were accepted into our world empire as friends and equals. There were many good reasons for our conquests. Above all, we had to get ahead of other great powers, the Turks in the south or the Chinese in the east. Take it in time before someone else does, was the right approach even then. And it still applies today, Labi. You must also not disregard the fact that all these peoples were frozen in a primitive, mostly patriarchal power structure. They were not even cultural peoples, if we are honest. They were stupid peasants, even half savages. They could only develop into useful of the Russian multi-ethnic state and thus of the world

community thanks to the Tsarist Empire and later under the protection of the Soviet Union. With our superior intellect, we brought these peoples forward by many decades, some even by centuries. History will confirm this one day all over the world," Sokolow ended in a tone of conviction.

Jules looked at Vladimir in surprise. He had never experienced him as a die-hard nationalist before. But what the oligarch was opening up to them here as his views was a complete distortion of reality and truth. Already in the Middle Ages, there were economically and culturally extremely prosperous countries on the borders with Russia, if one thought of Estonia, Latvia, or Lithuania. But they were mercilessly pressed into their empire by the Russians and they tried to erase the traditions, even the languages in their memory. This was not annexation, but assimilation. But Jules did not want to pick a fight with Vladimir.

"As a Swiss, I am of course committed to smallness," he said with an apologetic smile towards the oligarch, "and Ethiopia has been fighting for its freedom and self-determination for many centuries. So please forgive me if Labi and I can only partially understand the Russian soul on this point. The small state offers the highest form of freedom for its inhabitants, because it voluntarily limits its power by renouncing greatness. A large state like Russia, on the other hand, has many other advantages, for example, the calm development of powers and the large community of solidarity. Thus, both forms of state probably possess great advantages and thus their raison d'être."

The Russian billionaire looked at Jules frowningly, even disparagingly, for a moment, but then recognised in the Swiss's face a desire to leave the subject alone.

"Yes, it's all right, Julja and Labi, we really shouldn't discuss political systems here. Please forgive me. Finding Alina must be our only goal."

Sokolow visibly relaxed at his words, but then picked up where he left off. The idea of a Russian world empire seemed to hold him captive.

"I just want to explain one more thing," and at this he looked at the three at the table again imperatively, looking each in turn firmly in the eye for a second or two before continuing, as if he could win over their opinion.

"All these breakaway republics will still think wistfully of their beautiful times within the Russian Tsarist Empire and the later Soviet Union. You can take my word for that."

After this bold statement, the table remained silent for the time being and a pause followed that became more unbearable with each ing second.

"Yes, I think so too," Jules interjected at last, in order to reduce the lack of response and the resulting rising tension between them, "because as soon as Russia also demands normal world market prices from the former Soviet states for its extensive oil and gas supplies, the state budgets in these countries will fare very badly. Except perhaps in Kazakhstan because they currently still have sufficiently high energy reserves of their own. But the economies of the other former of the USSR would certainly be very affected by higher prices."

The oligarch looked at Jules puzzled for a moment. Then he began to nod conciliatorily and said: "Yes, they will also have to realise that it was a big mistake to leave the Russian Federation when it comes to energy.

*

"Why didn't you tell Volodya about your interrogation of Gerriosch and about the research lab in Petro...anyway?", Alabima asked him after the oligarch had left them. Sokolow wanted to take the opportunity to visit two more of his local companies in Saint Petersburg. They declined his invitation to accompany him back to Moscow in the evening on his private jet. They persuaded him that they would probably make their way back by car in the morning.

"Volodya is a high-ranking person, Alabima. I don't want him to be associated in any way with the five deaths so far, which we are already responsible for in our search for Alina. In the case of the woman and the men in Moscow, the police will hopefully first suspect a settling of s between rival gangs and therefore not make a serious investigation. The FSB will indeed miss its agents and will certainly track down and identify the dead at some point later. But I cannot believe that the Russian state apparatus is really behind the abductions of the children. Rather, I think that a few people from the FSB were working here on their own private . Alina's abduction does not fit into any scheme in which the Russian state could be involved. But if this group was operating in Moscow without the blessing of the authorities, then her murder won't make too many waves. However, if the police find Gerriosch's body, it will trigger intensive investigations. And because we are certainly among the last visitors and we were kicked out of his place, we automatically fall into the circle of suspects. If the police then find out that our rental car was seen at the scene of a quadruple murder in Moscow, it will be dangerous for all of us. That's why I'd rather lie to Volodya than get into trouble with the apparatchiks later."

"And what are we going to do now?", Chufu wanted to know, "are we finally going to that lab?"

"Yes, let's go upstairs and get ready for the trip to Petrozavodsk. I'll call Alyosha

in his room. Let's meet in the hotel lobby in half an hour, okay?"

*

The long drive to Petrozavodsk was very monotonous. They hung on to their thoughts and no real conversation arose between them. But the tension grew in all of them as they approached their destination. What would be waiting for them there? A highly secured research lab with insurmountable fences and guard posts with dogs against which all their efforts had to bounce? Or even a completely cold trail that a guilt-ridden deputy director of the IFMO had come up with in his greatest need because he had felt more fear of his principals than of Alexei? Hopefully, in a few hours they would know.

The seemingly endless forests of Russia flanked their monotonous journey. Fir trees lined up in dark thickets, interspersed with vast stretches of land where only birch or alder seemed to thrive, perhaps because the soil was too wet for other types of trees. They had refuelled in St. Petersburg, so Aleksej was able to drive through without a break. At three o'clock in the afternoon they were supposed to reach Petrozavodsk, the capital of Karelia.

The pink marble for the mausoleum of revolutionary leader Lenin had been quarried near Petrozavodsk, Alexei told them in between. He was at pains to deflect the noticeably growing tension with some insignificant information. The city had about a quarter of a million inhabitants and lived from the woodprocessing industry and fishing. There were also some research laboratories of the Russian Academy of Science there. But Chufu, Alabima and Jules had already learned all this from the internet last night. These useless facts from Alexei lulled their inner sadness, like a warm blanket. They listened to his words in a dim half-sleep, but they were too unimportant to penetrate their own trains of thought.

Jules sat in the enger seat with his eyelids closed, watching little Alina's radiant smile in front of him, how she lay in her cot and stretched out her arms to him, kicking her legs with expectant pleasure, how he gently grasped her with his hands around her little body, lifted her up and pressed her against his face, how she curled with laughter at the tickling and scratching of his stubble on her cheek, how she began to tug at his nose, her short fingers sliding down it again and again until she could catch one of the nostrils and her little thumbnail dug into his skin with all its strength, a stinging but easily bearable pain when it came from his own flesh. Jules moved his head slowly back and forth and Alina watched in amazement as her arm connected to his nose moved in step with it. She thought hard about this phenomenon and her brow furrowed for a moment. Surely, she wanted to find out what was behind this new mystery. And suddenly the stream of realisation flashed through her little brain. She let go of his nose and laughed out loud, chuckling at her discovery.

*

Gerriosch had explained to Alexei in quite some detail where exactly the research site was and how they could get to it by a direct route. Thanks to Google Earth and GPS, they also found the described access road without any problems. The sign on the country road where they had to turn off pointed to a state laboratory for forest management, which basically fitted in well with this area with a timber industry. The site was about thirty kilometres south of Petrozavodsk and in the middle of a huge, northern virgin forest. The dirt forest road had deep and wide tyre tracks. It must have been used by trucks and other heavy vehicles. The path ended in front of a high wire mesh fence with a gate and a small guard house next to it. They could not see anything of the laboratory facilities from the car. They were probably further away and behind the next hills. They could assume that the fenced area covered a considerable area.

When they stopped, a guard stepped out and peered suspiciously at them through the wire fence. So at least this gate was closely guarded. A floodlight system could turn night into day and two cameras monitored the access area to the compound.

"How do we proceed? What do you suggest, Julja?"

Alexei's voice was cold and disionate. He knew how harmful any emotion could be in a dangerous operation. He had therefore pushed every thought of his dead brother back into his subconscious, wanting to be able to concentrate completely on freeing little Alina.

"First we'll look for a place to stay for the night, preferably somewhere where we don't have to show our ports," Jules said.

"Unfortunately, this can hardly be avoided, Julja. Our laws are extremely strict in this regard. A hotel that does not comply will inevitably lose its concession. But perhaps we can find private accommodation. With them, it often takes two or three days to new guests. We would then be invisible and untraceable to the authorities for that long. Shall we?"

Jules agreed. Aleksej turned the car around on the narrow forest road and drove towards the city, turning off into a side street already in the first suburb and reducing the speed of the Range Rover. They all peered out through the windows, looking for signs in front gardens and behind windowpanes indicating room rentals.

"It means warning of the dog," Jules clarified to Chufu, who warned from

behind, assuming that the two men in front had overlooked a sign.

"And here they are just looking for cleaning help," added Alexei at another house. But after a while they found a kind of bed and breakfast, at least it was quite a stately three-storey house with a sign on its façade indicating its services.

"What do you think, Alyosha, can we hope to slow down our registration here for a while?"

"We'll definitely be able to squeeze a few days out of it, I think."

Alexei and Jules went inside and were greeted by an elderly woman who was friendly, even courteous. She had perhaps seen the licence plate from Moscow and was therefore expecting a good deal with rich capitals. And when she recognised Jules' West European face, her smile became broad. They quickly agreed on the price and were able to inspect the three small but clean bedrooms. They rented for a week and paid the total price in cash. When asked about their ports, Aleksej replied, "Unfortunately, we can't give them to you today. We need them first thing in the morning. We will be attending a congress at the university tomorrow and they won't let us in without our ports."

The older woman looked at him suspiciously for a moment, but then shrugged indifferently.

"Then please write me the names of all the guests on this list here, yes? And the numbers of your ports next to them. I don't want any trouble with the authorities."

Aleksej did as he was told, also using their correct names. The woman compared the information with her identity cards and was satisfied. She had certainly never housed three foreigners under her roof at the same time.

They brought Alabima and Chufu into the house and the older Russian woman stared at the dark-skinned woman and the Asian boy somewhat stupidly. Here in the northwest of Russia, it was probably rare to deal with people from other continents. The four of them lugged their luggage upstairs and moved into the three rooms.

"Is there a particularly good restaurant nearby that you can recommend for tonight?", Jules asked her landlady when they were all gathered in the narrow entrance hall again.

"The Volga is quite good. Just follow the road for about three hundred metres, then turn right and go straight for another four hundred metres. It's on the left and its fish dishes are quite good."

"Thank you very much. Do we need to book there for tonight?"

The woman laughed briefly and somewhat shrilly, also shaking her head in denial, as if her guest had told a decidedly amusing joke.

"If you pay in euros or dollars, Andrei himself will throw our mayor out to make room for you, don't worry."

With that, still giggling softly, she turned away from them and disappeared into an ading room that probably served as her office.

"Let's go sit in the car and talk," Alexei said quietly to the others. Chufu and Alabima looked surprised but came outside without question.

"In Russia, sometimes even the walls have eyes and ears. Here in the car, we can be sure not to be overheard," her Russian friend justified himself when they had all taken a seat in the car and he had driven off.

"And how are we going to proceed tonight?", Chufu reported eagerly from behind.

"You certainly don't lead the way, Chufu," Jules replied seriously, "and that goes for you too, of course, Alabima. You don't have the necessary education, training or even experience to accompany Alyosha and me. Don't even think about it. You're just a burden to both of us."

"Damn it, Jules, you know very well that I can't keep still and just sit around any longer."

From Alabima's accusatory words, her energy could be heard, but also a great deal of stubbornness.

"Darling, it really can't be done. Maybe even Alyosha and I have no chance of getting onto the research institute's premises undetected. It seems to be extremely well guarded. You've seen that too. But with you and Chufu together, penetration is completely impossible, please believe me."

"Jules, you brought Alina, Chufu and me here to this country and right into this mess. Yet you continue to demand that I wait and just watch what you and Alyosha do? How am I supposed to trust you to find and save Alina? Oh Jules, I feel two hearts beating in my chest. One tells me to trust you and Alyosha without reservation. But the second one is rebelling, doesn't want to sit still any longer, wants to fight for our daughter's life at last. You're asking a lot of me, Jules, do you realise that?" and quietly she added, "perhaps too much."

Jules did not know how to respond to these words, spoken with so much bitterness, and sat silently in the car like the other two, looking for a suitable reply, an explanation that could restore trust. But he could not think of one. Perhaps that was why he spoke his answer with a harshness and coldness that he had certainly not intended.

"Alyosha and I will go with you to this restaurant tonight, about eight o'clock. Chufu and you, Alabima, will then eat there and walk back to the guesthouse. It's only a few hundred metres. Alyosha and I, on the other hand, will try to get to the Research Institute compound during the night. That's all."

Neither Alabima nor Chufu replied, but their disapproval of the plan was almost physically palpable to the other two. Alexei looked inquiringly into the rear-view mirror inside the car, trying to read the faces of the two in the fund. Alabima and Chufu, however, were staring out the side windows, their teeth clenched in tension and anger so that their jaw muscles showed under their skin.

Saturday, 13 August 2008

Effredi got ready for the walk as he did every morning. He stood in front of the mirror in the hallway and carefully combed his sparse white hair, using his old brush as usual. Its wooden handle felt uneven, due to the varnish that had flaked off in places. Nevertheless, the brush gave him a warm and good feeling. He had bought it so many years ago that he couldn't it himself. It belonged to him like each of his hands.

Actually, my hair is still rather grey, he thought pensively to himself, but on my almost black scalp it looks much lighter. It won't be long before I'm known throughout the neighbourhood as a wise man.

Effredi twisted his mouth into a smile.

He parted his head precisely, as he did every morning, on the left side of his head, exactly halfway between his ear and the highest point. That's how he had done it all those years as a civil servant and that's how he kept it even after his retirement. The fact that his forehead, which had always been high, had widened in recent years did not bother him much. He was a man at peace with himself and his life.

To other people, Effredi seemed a little deliberate, thoughtful, pensive, and decidedly quiet. But the neighbours and family friends appreciated him as a conversational partner precisely because of these qualities, because he could listen. Many also asked him for advice or discussed their problems at work or in the family with him. And Effredi enjoyed being involved by others in their

worries and needs. It gave him a feeling of still being needed, something he was rarely allowed to feel since he retired and his children left home.

But as always when he had this thought, he was overcome by a strong feeling of guilt. For he also felt his own elation to be arrogance and a sacrilege because his advice was always most sought after someone had previously been hit by a hard fate.

"Will you accompany me?" he asked through the half-open kitchen door to his daughter, who was sitting at the narrow table with a cup of tea, watching her mother prepare lunch while chatting with her.

Alabima looked at her father for a moment, puzzled. Her mother Luena had told her that her father had always been walking alone in the city park for a few months. And she had also observed this since she had arrived in Addis Ababa and regularly had lunch with her parents. Every morning he would go out alone and for an hour or two, returning punctually for lunch at half past twelve. Alabima now saw that Luena had also turned to her husband and was looking at him a little wonderingly and questioningly. But he said nothing more, still waiting patiently for his daughter's answer.

"Sure," she said hesitantly and quickly finished her cup and stood up.

Together they left the flat, descended the creaking wooden stairs. The tall and very slim Effredi led the way. Today he was wearing his dark brown suit with a freshly ironed white cotton shirt, had tied on his light green tie, which was much too wide and thus hopelessly old-fashioned. Calmly, confidently, and proudly, he descended the steps, one by one, setting his feet down in a measured but determined and sure manner. Even as a small child, Alabima had ired her father for his stride. He always seemed so composed, so unwavering, which was

almost intimidating to any onlooker. And just as she had followed him as a small child, she kept two steps away from him now, staring at her father's narrow back, matching his pace.

A feeling of safety and security, forgotten for a long time but nevertheless so familiar, rose up in Alabima. Yes, her father had always been a strong for her, letting her feel the peace and strength that one needed as a child and also as an adolescent to become a self-confident adult.

They walked the five hundred metres to the city park in silence, side by side. Effredi glanced up at the sun a few times, squinted in its light and twisted his lips into a relaxed smile. Alabima could not guess what thoughts came over him. But she observed her father's joie de vivre with a joyful feeling in her heart, feeling strangely secure and safe in his presence, as she had not for a long time.

They had reached the large pool of water with the water lilies when her father finally began to speak.

"I don't know exactly what the issues are between you and your husband, daughter number three."

Her father had often called her that when she was little. Daughter number three. And at that moment, too, a warm cloud flowed over her at this form of address, seeming to envelop and protect her. All good things come in threes, daughter number three, her father had often said when she was a child. She ed even more strongly at that moment her feelings of absolute security back then. And she had felt even then that she, as the nestling of the family, was his special pride.

"You have told us why you fled from him and came here. Luena and I can understand your motives up to a point. You know that your mother s you in everything you decide for your life. Having been able to reflect sufficiently on your situation over the past few days, I think it's time I told you a story, a story that my grandfather recited to me a long time ago."

Alabima looked at him attentively. She had never been able to meet her grandparents. They died shortly after her birth and her father rarely spoke about them. But he had never spoken of her great-grandfather in the family circle.

"You must know that my grandfather still lived in the vast steppes, where he, together with his father and siblings, looked after and protected the herds of cattle in the village where they all lived. It was many days' journey from here, in the south-east of our country. My father only came here to the capital after a three-year drought had killed almost all the cattle and our family suffered almost constant hunger. He found work here and I was later allowed to attend school, got a good education and was thus able to start my own family and also always have enough food and clothing."

There was no pride in Effredi's words. He simply listed the facts in gratitude to a fate that had meant well for him and his loved ones.

"My grandfather returned to the steppe after his wife died. But once a year we visited him. Then he told stories from his village. Among them was the one about a hunter called Immo and his wife Illia. You have to know, Immo was the best predator hunter in the village at that time, could throw his spear far and unerringly and was nimble on his feet when he had to run to safety from an injured predator. With his arrow, he could hit a grazing antelope at a hundred paces, and he also handled his long hunting knife skilfully, once even ramming it straight into the heart of a leopard when it jumped at him by surprise, hidden in the crown of a tree. The leopard was dead before it could seriously injure Immo, so strong and skilled was the hunter. From then on, however, he wore the scars

of the predator's claws on his chest and shoulders as a sign of his special manhood and therefore full of pride."

"Immo built himself a permanent house and acquired a small herd of cattle and camels. Then he married the beautiful Illia, the daughter of the village elder. Illia was a good wife to him. But it always frightened her very much when Immo went out early in the morning to hunt predators in the far countryside. After a few months, she could no longer stand her fear and she demanded that Immo give up his dangerous work and hand it over to a younger man. Immo refused, patiently explaining to her that he was not allowed to fulfil her wish. He was the most skilled predator hunter in the village and therefore had to do his duty. Only in this way would the cattle herds and the people of the village be safe. Illia could not or would not accept or understand this. One day she left her husband. Her fear of one day becoming a widow had become too great. She could no longer live with the constant fear. Illia also could not and would not understand that Immo valued his duty to the community more than his marriage vows."

"Immo, however, grieved terribly over the loss of his wife. He tried many times to convince her to come back to him. But Illia strictly refused. As long as he did not give up hunting predators, she would not return to him. But Immo could not promise that, because he would have felt responsible if something had happened to one of the young, less experienced hunters. And so Immo became sadder and sadder, for he could no longer be happy without his wife. But when once again a whole pride of lions was sighted near the village, Immo went out alone at night, armed only with his spear, light shield, strong bow with long hunting arrows and his knife. He was never heard from or seen again."

"But for the villagers it was clear that Immo simply no longer wanted to live without his Illia and therefore placed himself in God's hands. And the good Lord also recognised that the hunter Immo could no longer be happy on this earth without his Illia, and he took him to himself full of mercy."

Effredi looked at his daughter with sad eyes. But there was no reproach in his expression. It was more as if he had taken a look into the future for himself. Alabima had to swallow dryly.

"I will think about it, father," she said seriously as they continued to walk side by side.

"Do that, daughter number three."

The dense foliage of the trees bathed the trunks and the ground below in a sparkling green light. Outside in the meadow, the butterflies were dancing.

2007, Autumn/Winter

The surveillance of key representatives of the major bank by the domestic intelligence service of the Swiss Confederation was uncovered after only a few days. The office of the CEO and the chairman of the board of the major bank had been successfully bugged. But the electronic microphones did not work very reliably and were already discovered during the next check by the bank's internal security service. They began to isolate the perpetrator of the bugging, and after two days they also found the inconspicuous van, which was parked far too often in the vicinity or circled the blocks of houses on Paradeplatz. Twenty-four hours later, a senior official of the domestic intelligence service had to confirm to the representative of the bank's security service in a confidential conversation that Federal Councillor Schneller was behind the illegal wiretapping operation, had even commissioned it without the knowledge or involvement of the Office of the Attorney General and thus completely illegally.

The CEO and the chairman of the board of the major bank were subsequently informed about the whole affair by their security service. The dispatch from the US ambassador in Bern to the CIA headquarters in Langley set alarm bells ringing there a few hours later:

"Domestic Intelligence has initiated investigation into Project CH-012. Request instructions."

*

The pressure on the Alpine Republic had been steadily increasing in recent weeks. The finance ministers of several neighbouring countries spoke out independently of each other, condemning the tax evasion as a fraud on the people, accusing the beneficiaries of these flight funds of being fences and bandits. The Swiss government rather clumsily countered the sometimes subtle, sometimes outrageously direct accusations. The hitherto mutual respect between the Western states suddenly seemed to be suspended, a battle of Goliath against David inevitable. International law was verbally undermined by the representatives of the big nations. Small countries had to their wishes. Or they would been fought. However, the Swiss government quickly recognised the activities of the OECD as the greatest source of danger. This international organisation officially began to think about expanding the concept of tax havens. This was explosive material of the first order for Switzerland, because decisions by the OECD, even by a narrow majority, could lead to far-reaching measures and sensitive consequences for a country.

The US government offered to act as a mediator, something the Swiss government had always secretly hoped for. In return, and as a sign of its goodwill, the entire Federal Council decided a few days later to destroy the files on Pakistan's nuclear programme that were so unpleasant for the Americans. Aware of violating Swiss law, even the constitution with its separation of powers, the national government ordered the evidence to be shredded.

The istration in Washington visibly breathed a sigh of relief, as did a nasally-sounding senator and a casually-spoken Texan. Project CH-012 was again running within its intended parameters.

Only one problem remained and, in the eyes of the CIA and the IRS, it had to be solved as quickly as possible. And that meant Schneller.

*

"We are in agreement, Madam Federal Councillor?"

The voice sounded jovial, but also a little hyper. In the mind's eye of a listener, the glowing, even fanatical face of a man possessed would have inevitably appeared. The owner of the voice seemed to have dedicated himself to a holy mission. For this he would sacrifice his soul without a second thought, because only victory counted.

What the person on the other side of the line replied could unfortunately not be heard. But the man answered: "Yes, I know. It's not that far yet. But soon, hopefully. With our combined forces, we'll definitely make it."

Another pause of retort.

"Yes, I can assure you that we already have a slim majority of determined parliamentarians. And a few more waverers will surely be found. He has stepped on too many people's toes over the years. Now they can finally take their revenge on him. Don't worry, Madam Federal Councillor. Here's to good luck. Goodbye."

*

The American ambassador's dispatch to the CIA headquarters in Langley could hardly be sured in its clarity:

"Have majority of P on our side. SCH will soon be history. New BR will not give us any trouble. Cost is twelve and a half million dollars."

*

"Elected is, with 125 votes, Mrs Esther Ha-Abraham."

*

"Hello Jules."

"Hello Henry, good to hear from you."

"Tell me, Jules, what is actually going on in your tranquil little country at the moment?"

"You mean the Federal Council election?"

"Of course."

"You know, Henry, this was almost predictable. Our Justice Minister Schneller has been a political provocateur for decades. It was a miracle when parliament elected him to the Federal Council four years ago. Because even if many of his trenchant statements had proven correct in retrospect, many voters and the vast majority of politicians detest his shirt-sleeved manner."

"You're not serious, are you, Jules?"

Henry's voice sounded amused. He did not trust Jules' statements for a moment.

"No, you're right. I rather think Schneller's deselection has to do with the two phone calls we were sent. you know, Federal Councillor Schneller is a sharp and rather shrewd dog when it comes to conquering or defending a bone. If he had remained at the controls of his ministry, the Yanks would certainly have been worse off in their blackmail attempt. But now they are faced with a Federal Councillor who is completely inexperienced internationally. I think Schneller was simply too inconvenient for Uncle Sam and they let him precaution voting out of office. With such a weakened government, it will certainly be much easier for them to proceed. And who knows? Maybe the Americans have even bought themselves a few votes in parliament. I put it past them. Because when I see how many bourgeois politicians simply went along with the left's game in voting Schneller out of office, I am almost convinced of it. But the way is now clear for the IRS and it will hardly be long before they blow the whistle on bank client confidentiality."

"And how do you think the battle will go?"

"They will certainly surprise us, Henry. But I assume that with the help of the

EU and the OECD they will continue to increase the pressure on Switzerland and thus try to extract a few concessions in advance. In any case, the financial crisis, which is becoming more and more apparent, will hit many of these countries hard. As I heard recently, property prices in Spain, Ireland and even the UK have exploded in the last few years. Therefore, the impulse is likely to be high in these countries as well."

"As far as Great Britain is concerned, I can only agree with you. It's not only in London that prices for land in good residential locations have practically doubled in the last five years."

"If, as a result of a financial crisis, many large banks have to be ed by governments with new equity, then politicians will subsequently try to increase tax revenues. That is why the pressure on all financial centres outside the USA and the EU will increase strongly. In the case of Switzerland, the outward target will be bank-client confidentiality, and there will always be talk of tax morality and justice. In reality, however, the whole thing is aimed at the Swiss financial centre. They want to weaken it in favour of their own stock exchange centres. Because a prospering financial centre not only means many very well-paid jobs and thus higher tax revenues, but also easier placement of government bonds."

"Are you also thinking of the Channel Islands here with us, which have set up at least as good tax loopholes with their trusts as you in Switzerland with banking secrecy or Liechtenstein with its foundations?"

"Not just the islands, Henry. You know, in the US, Delaware, Nevada and Colorado bluntly that their banking secrecy is more impermeable than that of Switzerland. And Delaware in particular, like the Channel Islands, has no strong laws against money laundering. The Know Your Customer principle, which has been in force in Switzerland for more than ten years, is not an issue there. However, lax rules and regulations not only open the door to tax evasion, but also to money laundering and thus to organised crime and terrorist financing.

But all this will not concern the governments in the USA and the EU. They will certainly not act against their own financial sources and loopholes, but merely hack at the smaller countries and their financial centres."

"Not a pretty outlook for you in Switzerland, Jules."

"Yes, that's true. But as a small country, you always have to get down when the big powers flex their muscles. The only advantage of a small country is its flexibility and the attachment of the people to their own state. That's why I'm not worried , to be honest. We will bounce back, no matter how big the storm is this time. It will sweep over us and we will clean up after it in good Swiss tradition."

"And how do you see it with buying shares at the moment? Would now be a good time?"

"No, absolutely not, Henry. The stock markets are going to correct sharply downwards again, at least for a few more months. Nothing has changed in my opinion from the summer. As with every financial crisis, you will only notice after an initial shock, i.e., after a few months, that a financial crisis automatically triggers a recession in the economy as a whole. And because this financial crisis is particularly severe, this shock will be all the more severe. I myself have already sold all my shares and am waiting for much cheaper prices. I advise you to take the same step."

"Well then, thanks for the tip, Jules. Another question: How are Alabima and the little one? Alina is her name, you told me. Has your wife recovered from the birth yet and is the little one bothering you?"

"Thanks for asking, Henry. Yes, all four of us are alive and well. Alabima is already pushing to run the household again. The cooking skills of Chufu and me are not nearly enough for her. Alina, however, sleeps in her own room barely five weeks after her birth and already leaves us alone for six hours at a stretch until she needs her next bottle. You've certainly never seen a more trouble-free and contented baby."

"You know, I hope, Jules, how incredibly lucky you are with your family?"

"Yes, I know, Henry."

Thursday, 26 June 2008

They had found a hardware shop near the bed and breakfast and bought gloves, two side cutters, binoculars, cable ties, cleaning thread and a roll of insulating tape. In the evening, the four of them drove to the restaurant called Volga. Jules mentioned to the host that they were staying in the nearby guesthouse and that the restaurant had been recommended to them. They got a table without any problems and, after a look at the rather thin menu, ordered a starter and a main course each, with drinks to match.

After a few minutes, the kvass had just been served and it tasted excellent, they broke out into a heated argument, as previously agreed in the car, in which they hissed at each other in English, German and Russian, insulted each other and then even shouted at each other.

At some point Jules and Alexei jumped up angrily, ran out of the restaurant, got into the car, and sped away. To the few other guests in the restaurant and to the landlord, it looked like a sudden family quarrel that ended in the two men fleeing. They looked a little pityingly over at Alabima and Chufu, who looked concerned and continued to eat without appetite. To the guests, it looked as if the two had lost their hunger over the argument. In fact, however, it was the inactivity to which they were condemned and, of course, the concern for Alina, Jules and Alexei that was weighing on their stomachs.

Jules was of course pursuing a specific purpose with the feigned argument and the wild departure. Their landlady had called the restaurant owner by his first name, so she knew him quite well. She would certainly ask him the next day about his four guests and whether they had gone to his place for dinner. He would then tell her about the argument in his restaurant. This would give her

landlady the reason why Alabima and Chufu had returned to the guesthouse later that evening on foot and without the two men. After all, if their intrusion into the research compound was discovered but they managed to escape undetected, they would still need a good justification for the hours of their absence. The apparently random and completely escalated quarrel provided the explanation why the two men had driven around the area in an upset state for several hours until their anger had subsided. The questioning of the landlord and landlady would their alibi.

Aleksej steered the car out of the city and onto the country road that led past the entrance to the laboratory site. For a long time, they were completely alone, not crossing a single vehicle. However, they drove past the turnoff to the research facility. The Russian slowed down and together they looked for a path or track that could lead them away from the entrance gate closer to the fenced-in area. Four hundred metres further on, they discovered what must have been a seldomused forest track leading deeper into the forest and they followed it at walking pace. The ground was very wet here and the Range Rover's wheels sometimes turned in the mud as if on soft soap, but they did not get stuck anywhere. After only a few metres, they had disappeared with their car between the thicket and the low-hanging branches. From the road, the car would no longer be visible. Aleksej switched off the engine and headlights. But they remained seated for the time being, just opened the doors a crack and listened into the night. Only after five minutes, during which everything remained silent except for the normal sounds of the night animals, did they get out and follow the forest road deeper into the forest. Somewhere it would probably come up against the grounds of the research institute or just it.

It was quite dark under the low-hanging branches of the fir trees, even though the moon was quite full in the sky. Their progress was slow, they kept tripping over aerial roots or getting their feet caught on larger stones. Sometimes they got stuck in deep mud, which only released their shoes with a smacking sound. Their tro legs had long since been covered with mud splashes. The lowest branches of the trees also repeatedly hit them in the face. So, as they walked, they stretched their hands far away from them to feel for obstacles as early as possible. Despite all the hardship, they did not dare to switch on the torches they

had brought with them for the time being. The risk of discovery was simply too great for them.

When they had left the car, it was ten to nine. Twenty minutes later, they finally came across the fence to the compound. They had probably already followed it parallel on the overgrown path for a long way. At some point Aleksej had the inspiration and left the path, stepped a few steps into the bushes and felt the wire mesh with his fingers.

"Can we use the torches for a moment to get our bearings?"

Aleksej whispered the words into the wind, which had been briskly rising for a few minutes and was unpleasantly cold and damp.

"I'll turn mine on," Jules replied, shielding the funnel of the lamp with his left hand before switching it on. Dimly, the light filtered through his leather glove, illuminating only their immediate surroundings with a few slipped rays.

The fence was also over three metres high at this point, as they estimated against the night sky. That was too much to climb over. With the help of the dim light of the torch, they looked for a spot where particularly large bushes grew on both sides of the mesh wire. Carefully they crawled through so as to leave as little damage as possible to branches and leaves. It should not be easy to discover later on which way they had entered the area and hopefully left it undetected later on. In the light of the covered torch, they carefully checked the wire mesh, but there were no alarm strands woven into it. The fence was probably to prevent forest walkers and wild animals from accidentally entering the property rather than to provide absolute security. Using the side cutters, they cut a piece out of the wire mesh and slipped through. With the cable ties they were able to fix the slip through back to the cutting points. Their intrusion would hardly be detected in a

merely cursory inspection.

On this side of the fence, the forest had been largely cleared. A wide, hilly terrain with a few scattered groups of trees and islands of bushes spread out before them in the moonlight. Far away, a faint, bluish glow of light also penetrated from the ground. Aleksej and Jules understood each other without another word and immediately fell into a light trot that led them slowly but steadily towards the source of the light. They were not yet worried about surveillance by means of video cameras with residual light amplifiers or even guards. The effort in this huge area would have been far too great. It was more likely that the area would be controlled by watchtowers and spotlights and perhaps occasionally searched by dog patrols.

After a few minutes, they had probably covered a distance of almost a kilometre, they stopped as if on command. The edge of a hollow was no longer far ahead of them and the bluish glow had intensified. Both men had hardly run out of breath so far, a sign of their fitness. Carefully they checked the last piece of terrain ahead of them, searching it for masts with video cameras or watchtowers. No, no further precautions had been taken here either. Perhaps they also relied on securing the individual building shells, which would certainly have cost the least.

The glow of light from the hollow seemed within their reach. Only the slightly rising hilltop separated them from it. They crouched down and stalked towards the crest.

Below them, perhaps two hundred metres away, were five buildings close together. Two of them had four storeys, the others two. After they had gained an initial overview, they reached for the binoculars again and meticulously searched the facades and also the area around them but could not make out any cameras or other surveillance measures, nor did they discover any guards. But the entrances to the buildings were all electronically secured. In any case, the massive steel

doors had no knob or latch and there was a card reader on the walls next to them. Of course, they did not find any open windows either. Such invitations to enter a house unfortunately only appeared in bad films.

They crept in a wide arc around the building complex, repeatedly taking up positions and using the binoculars to look for other ways to get into one of the buildings, without success for the time being. They were more than halfway around when Alexei nudged his partner Jules on the shoulder.

"Look there, by the blue door, on the second building from the left, the side door I mean."

Jules pointed his binoculars at it but couldn't see anything in particular.

"What do you mean?"

"Take a closer look at the floor in front of the entrance."

Jules searched the space in front of the door and then discovered it.

"Cigarette butts," he muttered, "quite a few. Smoking seems to be banned in the building and the poor guys must be puffing out here. Let's hope there are some nicotine addicts working during tonight's night shift too."

He had barely finished his sentence when the blue side door was pushed open and a dark-haired man in his mid-twenties in a white coat stepped out, casually pushing a cigarette into the corner of his mouth. He was searching for the lighter with his hand in his coat pocket. Behind him the door slammed shut, pulled by a strong closer.

"How do we proceed?" whispered Jules.

At this stage of their operation, he was happy to leave the further procedure to the militarily trained and therefore certainly more experienced Alexei.

"As soon as that guy is gone, I'm going to sneak over to that shadow over there."

He pointed to a narrow, dark strip that lay between the second and the third building.

"Then when the next smoker comes out, you make your presence known and speak to him. Try to lure him a little further away from the door so I can get behind him before he notices me."

The man from the lab was already sucking one last deep breath through the filter of the cigarette into his lungs and the embers lit up brightly, then he flipped the stub away with his index finger so that it flew in a high arc three metres away, spraying sparks. He reached into his tro pocket and pulled out a plastic card, which he swiped through the magnetic reader on the wall. Almost simultaneously, he pushed open the door and disappeared into the opening. Jules and Alexei had glimpsed a bit of the corridor beyond with their binoculars. It was brightly lit and apart from the smoker, no other person had been visible.

Aleksej immediately set off, crept crouched down the hollow, reached the shadow between the buildings after a minute and melted into it. Now it was time to wait.

*

It ed a good half hour before the next smoker appeared in the doorway. It was also wearing a white lab coat but was much older. Jules let him light his cigarette, then stood up and made his way down to him. As he did so, he walked in zigzag steps and staggered, as if he were drunk. First, he hummed a Russian folk song softly, soon he began to bawl it out.

The man in his mid-forties flinched violently when he first heard Jules and then saw him staggering towards him out of the darkness. At the same moment, he realised that he was just a harmless drunk. He relaxed again and called out to him with a laugh: "Well, Towarishch, looked a little too deeply into the vodka bottle?"

Involuntarily, he took a few steps towards Jules. The unexpected change from the otherwise rather monotonous night work was probably just what the smoker needed. The Swiss saw Alexei slowly creeping up on the man from behind. The time had come for him to attract even more attention. Jules turned once around his own axis with grotesquely ruddering arms, then threw his head theatrically into his neck, at the same time bending his upper body forward. In this grotesque posture, he moved with swaying steps towards the smoker until he reached the gravelled area in front of the buildings. Here, the feigned drunkenness finally threw him to the ground, where he lay moaning and uttering a curse.

The smoker stepped a little closer and called out with a curious laugh: "Hey, comrade, are you all right? Wait, I'll help you get up."

Jules heard his footsteps and Jules heard the man bending over him. Then he heard the expected dry blow and a body fell half on top of him. Alexei grabbed the prostrate man under the armpits and pulled him off Jules, careful not to get the man's coat too dirty.

"Nice performance, Julja," Aleksei growled softly and appreciatively, "the next Oscar is yours for sure."

"Thank you for the flowers," he returned with a laugh, "my performance certainly knocked this one off his feet."

Together they searched the man and found the access card for the building in one of the sewn-on pockets. They took off his coat and Aleksej slipped into it. Then together they tied up the unconscious man's arms and legs with cable ties, also stuffed a handful of cleaning threads into his mouth cavity and sealed his lips with the tape they had brought. Then they pulled him into the deep shadows between the buildings and laid him down. They went back to the blue side door. It opened willingly for them thanks to the map and they slipped inside.

*

Behind the door, a short, straight corridor led to a wide central hallway. From

here, one could probably reach all the rooms on this floor of the building. Cautiously, they peered around the corners. The corridor lay in front of them, all the doors they could see were closed. There were no surveillance cameras here either, they noticed, and by now Jules was beginning to wonder if this really was the place where abducted children were taken. Maybe this Gerriosch had lied to them in his distress and fear after all? Or had the deputy director of the IFMO perhaps been set on a false trail himself so that he could not reveal anything to anyone? Such lax security measures really only suited completely legal and, what's more, economically uninteresting activities. Or were they on the right track and the perpetrators simply bristled with arrogance and arrogance?

As they had expected and hoped, the bustle of the laboratory seemed to be kept to a minimum during the night hours. For the next few minutes, too, no one showed themselves in the central corridor and neither voices nor other noises could be heard. If they hadn't spotted the cigarette butts outside the door, they would probably have wandered uselessly around the buildings and ended up assuming that no one was working at all during the night. Maybe there were just some long-running chemical procedures going on at the moment, supervised by a handful of lab assistants? Or they were playing nanny to the abducted babies?

"How do we want to proceed, Julja? Examine each room in turn?"

"No, that takes far too long. I think the offices are on the top floor. They should therefore be our first target. We first have to get an overview of the furnishings and their purpose. Maybe we can even find an overview plan with the room divisions or something similar? If they even kidnap new-borns, there must be an infant ward here somewhere."

The stairs to the higher floors were close to them. They crept up the stairs, kept looking around and listening for suspicious noises. But everything remained quiet.

As they peered around the corner on the first floor, a young man, perhaps twenty years old, with long, blond, rather unkempt hair, suddenly stood in front of them. He stared at them out of pale blue, wide-open eyes, but with no apparent terror. Aleksej was about to rush at him and render him harmless when Jules held him back by the arm. The Swiss had recognised in the man's blank look that he had not yet noticed them at all.

Fascinated, they looked at the young man in front of them, who continued to stand there quietly and somehow absent-mindedly. He seemed to look right through them, obviously not noticing them. At the same time, he was muttering something quietly to himself. His voice sounded monotonous, as if he were reading from a book. After a few seconds, Alexei and Jules recognised mathematical formulas.

"a cos x + b sin x = c ... a cos2 x + b sin x cos x + c sin2 x = d ..."

"These are formulas from goniometry, for calculating angles," Jules said quietly to Alexei.

"And what does that mean? He's mentally out of it, isn't he? Just look at his pupils. Either the guy's been drugged or he's insane."

"Maybe they run a department for psychiatric patients here? Think of the handicapped baby from the clinic. In any case, the man here is hardly completely normal. But he seems to be a rather harmless weirdo."

The young man suddenly started moving and continued down the corridor, looking like a sleepwalker, completely absorbed. The two men followed him slowly and Jules realised that he had arrived at the vectorial differential equations. He actually seemed to be rattling off the chapters of a mathematics book from memory.

A few metres further down the corridor, the blond turned abruptly to the right and disappeared through an open door. Jules' curiosity was now definitely aroused and so he told Aleksej that he wanted to see where the man had disappeared to. Together they crept to the entrance and peered inside. In the rather large room, there were several desks and the young man had sat down at one of them, holding his palms in front of his face as if there was a book in it that he could continue reading from, still rambling to himself.

At a long table, five children put their heads together. They were probably between ten and fourteen years old, three girls and two boys. They had their upper bodies bent far forward, their faces only a few centimetres above some sheets of paper on which they were busily scribbling with pencils. Suddenly, one of the girls threw her head back and shouted "done". A blink of an eye later, one of the boys followed her example, all the others barely another second later. They looked at each other contentedly, but didn't even glance at Jules and Alexei, who should have noticed them. Either they were used to being observed while they were doing their work or their work occupied them so much that they were completely oblivious to their surroundings.

Like robots, they took the top sheet of paper from the pile and pushed it all the way down. Then one of the girls, who must have been the youngest child at the table, shouted "go" and immediately all five bent over their work again and started scribbling wildly with their pencils.

Since the children had not reacted to their presence, Jules and Alexei unceremoniously stepped closer and took a closer look at what they were doing.

Printed on the sheets were a whole series of extremely complicated-looking maths problems, square roots of seven-digit numbers or the fifth power of a twodigit number. The children wrote down the results next to the problems almost every second, calculating in their heads much faster than one could have used the keys of a calculator. Two of the children, however, made strange, frantic movements with their free hand. It seemed as if their index fingers were pushing something around in the air. Jules realised what this meant. A few months ago, something similar had been shown on television. But now, in person, it looked even more ghostly and it sent shivers down his spine.

In the meantime, all twenty tasks on this sheet had been solved and one of the boys was the first to shout "done", the others followed a blink of an eye later. These children did not need to compare their results. They had long known that none of them ever calculated wrong. All they cared about was finding out which of them was the faster brain acrobat.

Jules pulled Alexei back into the corridor.

"I wonder what they're doing in there?" the Russian asked the Swiss quietly.

"They're having a marathon mental arithmetic competition."

"And why are two of them waving their index fingers in the air?"

"I think they see in their mind's eye a slide rule that they operate with their fingers. Their brain finds the calculation on its own, but the years of practised and familiar pushing makes it easier for them to think. I saw this once in a TV programme about schoolchildren in South Korea."

"It looked pretty scary, though, dancing around in the air with their little fingers while nervously scribbling the results on the paper with the other hand," the Russian confessed.

"Tell me about it, Alyosha. I'd like to go after the people who degrade children to such calculating machines. That's inhumane in my eyes. But come on, we have to move on and take care of Alina first."

After his experiences with the young man and the five children, Jules was more confident that they had found the right forge after all. It was obvious that experiments were being carried out on people here.

Quietly, they climbed up to the next floor. There, one of the doors stood open, directly opposite the staircase. An elderly man sat in the room on a simple wooden chair at an unadorned table. He kept his eyelids closed and his upper body slowly swayed back and forth as if he were in some kind of trance. Suddenly he fluttered his eyelids open and looked at her without showing surprise. His face twisted into a happy smile.

"Finally, some new faces again. Good to see you guys. What do you want to know from me?"

He looked at her, waiting and challenging at the same time.

The man was perhaps fifty years old, had thinning, greying hair and a broad, flat, homely-looking face with almond eyes and quite dark, sun-tanned skin. He was

probably from the vast steppes of Siberia, more reminiscent of a Chinese than a Russian. He wore a dingy, dark blue dressing gown and striped pyjamas underneath. His feet were in old leather slippers and his toes had unkempt and much too long nails. He seemed harmless to them at least, which also explained the open door of the room.

The man had addressed his question only to Alexei, still looking at him observant, probably a consequence of the white coat that identified him as a doctor or caregiver.

"What do you know?" the Russian asked back amiably, while Jules stayed in the background.

The man answered proudly: "I know everything", and immediately continued: "Today is 26 June 2008. One hundred years ago, on 26 June 1908, the Prussian parliament was opened in Berlin. Before the toast to the king was offered, the newly elected Social Democratic deputies demonstratively left the hall, causing a political scandal. A mounted troop of 200 revolutionaries attacked the Mexican town of Viesca, destroying the telegraph poles and railway line. In Cologne, a conference of a ministerial commission investigating the structural condition of Cologne Cathedral ended. In view of falling smaller and larger parts of the wall as well as precious stucco, it was urgently recommended that the cathedral be renovated. On 26 June 1909, ninety-nine years ago, during an audience on board the imperial yacht Hohenzollern in Kiel, Reich Chancellor Bernhard von Bülow requested the German Emperor Wilhelm II to dismiss him. Bülow justified his resignation with the inheritance tax bill rejected by the Reichstag. The Russian Tsar Nicholas II was received in Stockholm by the Swedish King Gustav V for an official visit. During the meeting there was a terrorist attack by a left-wing extremist in which a senior Swedish officer was killed. In Lübeck, the German Medical Congress ended with the adoption of a resolution calling, among other things, for the free ission of doctors. In the presence of the British royal couple, the Victoria and Albert Museum was opened in the London district of South Kensington. The building was designed by the architect Sir Anton

Webb and Queen Victoria herself laid the foundation stone in 1899. Its 145 rooms display works of art from Europe and the British colonies. 26 June 1910, ninety-eight years ago. António Teixeira de Sousa becomes the new Portuguese Prime Minister, succeeding Francisco António da Veiga Beirão. The German Gallop Derby in Hamburg-Horn is won by Orient from Graditz Stud. The Grand Prix of Longchamps was won by a woman for the first time on this day. 26 June 1911..."

"That's enough for now," Jules cut the male chatterbox off, whereupon he pursed his lips and dropped the corners of his mouth in offence, which Jules took no notice of and said instead, "I have a completely different question: what's your name?"

The man looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"I want to know your name. What is your name?", Jules repeated insistently, grabbing the man by both shoulders, bending down to him and bringing his face in front of the other's.

The latter remained silent but seemed to search his brain in vain for the answer. Then, distraught, he looked at the Swiss and stammered, "I don't know."

This realisation immediately seemed to panic him, for he groaned loudly and repeated louder, "I DON'T KNOW."

Then he buried his face in his hands and began to sob. Jules patted his shrugging shoulders encouragingly and said consolingly, "But that doesn't matter, my dear friend. I'm sure it will come back to you."

At that moment, a door slammed shut two floors below them. Immediately afterwards, trampling bootsteps could be heard coming from the staircase, a loud clatter hurrying up the stairs. Alexei and Jules looked around quickly but saw no chance of hiding in the room. Already the first uniformed men appeared on the landing. They pointed the muzzles of their Kalashnikovs at them and snarled at them over the gun barrels in Russian: "Hands up, slowly lower yourselves to your knees and then lie down with your bellies on the floor."

Jules and Alexei did as they were told.

Sunday, 10 August 2008

"If I go to boarding school, then you will be left here in the house all alone."

Chufu looked at Jules worriedly.

"So what? It'll be fine."

"Nonsense, it won't work. No one can just get over the loss of their daughter and wife. Don't kid yourself. You're going to the dogs, Jules, I've seen it in your face for weeks. And if I'm also gone, no one will care about you at all."

They were sitting together on the sofa in the living room, having just polished off the hamburgers cooked on the charcoal grill outside on the terrace and wiped ketchup and mayonnaise from the corners of their mouths. Tomorrow morning, Jules wanted to deliver his son to the Château du Rosey, where he could prepare for his Matura in peace over the next few months.

In the almost two years that Chufu had been living in Switzerland, he had made tremendous progress in school. Jules and Alabima made sure that he was brought up to the class goals of his year by three private teachers. And the Filipino orphan boy did not disappoint them but showed himself to be extremely inquisitive and studious. He must have always possessed a great gift for languages, for his English and also his French were practically accent-free and he had obsessively thrown himself into the German language in the last nine months. But he was also interested in general subjects like history, geography,

and biology. Only in mathematics was he still lagging a little behind.

Chufu was a good student. But he was all too easily distracted from his work, which at seventeen was not surprising. But as long as he spent most evenings a week wandering around the corners with his friends, his homework had a hard time. Jules convinced his son to move to boarding school in Rosey and prepare for graduation in peace. Chufu's decision was certainly helped by the fact that the château was a mixed boarding school and housed one hundred and fifty students from thirty nations. Half of them were his age.

"It honours you, my dear son, to worry about me, but it is really not necessary. I'll be fine and back on my feet. Just give me some time to do it. No weeds spoil that easily."

"But Jules, you at least have to go out more often again. Since Alabima left, you've been hanging around the house almost exclusively, even neglecting your Project 32 for the Lodge. You're also letting yourself go more and more. Just take a look at yourself in the mirror. This morning you didn't even shave."

Jules now looked at his son in surprise and ran his hand thoughtfully over his stubbly chin.

"Do you really have that impression? Can you tell I'm running on fumes?" he nevertheless tried a tired joke.

"You're not walking on your gums. You've been walking on your jawbone for a long time. What happened to us in Moscow was simply fate. You can't help that, Jules. And the fact that Alabima left you afterwards is unfair to you and a big

mistake on her part. You only did what you thought was necessary and right. She should not reproach you for that, but on the contrary should you."

"Thank you for your encouragement, Chufu. But Alabima is basically right. She didn't leave me because of what happened in Russia and what was done to Alina. But I betrayed her trust and put my family in danger, and also refused to change my life fundamentally. And that was her condition. But I want to and will continue to interfere and take responsibility wherever it is imperative in my eyes. That is part of my nature, my personality. It is what defines me as a human being, at least I think so. Alabima could not or would not accept this any longer."

Chufu stepped up to Jules and put his hand on his shoulder but didn't say a word. The young man's personality had matured in the last weeks and months and he was now almost an adult. Jules felt this particularly clearly now, as his adopted son's warm hand felt strangely comfortable on his shoulder and calmed his tense nerves. Never before had Chufu been more comrade and less son or even child to him.

"I think Alabima must have known what she was getting into when she married you, don't you?"

Chufu's voice was without reproach despite his words. It sounded more like a statement.

"Yes, I think so. And I advised her from the beginning not to get seriously involved with me. She already knew everything important about my life in Ethiopia. Nevertheless, she chose me, trusting that she would be strong enough. But she probably always hoped that I would put my family above everything else and that I would also sacrifice my convictions for her."

"And it isn't?" the boy's voice now showed clear unease after all, "your family isn't the most important thing in your life? You love Alabima more than anything and you let her feel it every day."

"And yet, in the end, I betrayed them. You know, I threw the threats from Russia to the wind and told British intelligence everything I learned."

Chufu's eyes widened and she looked at Jules incredulously and reproachfully.

"Are you crazy? Didn't Alabima ask you more than once to forget everything and not tell anyone about it? Alabima took the warning from Russia very seriously, you know that very well."

Jules looked at his son sorrowfully.

"You don't understand the Russian soul, Chufu. Revenge is not a sufficient reason for a Russian to harm a hair on our head. Russians are proud and honest people at heart. And last but not least, they are also great players. That's why they can accept defeat and put it behind them. I'm also convinced that it suits them fine that I called in MI6. Because in this way the new threat potential in the West became known even before the Russians had to use it. I tried to make all this clear to Alabima as well, but unfortunately without success. And even if I was wrong. The Russians' revenge would only affect me and never my family."

"Still, it was pretty stupid of you to ignore Alabima's warnings. But I have a completely different question: what was it you found out in Russia and told the

British anyway?"

"I'm certainly not going to tell you that, Chufu. But it was too important to be kept quiet. Otherwise, how easily could the conflict in Georgia have turned into a conflagration in the whole of Eastern Europe?

"What is the war between Russia and Georgia supposed to have to do with our experiences?"

"Well, . As recently as July, Nato forces held manoeuvres with other former Soviet constituent states. Their purpose was to show the Russians possible consequences if they didn't stop their aggression against Georgia."

"But this has not worked very well, as the war that has now broken out between Russia and Georgia proves. And an escalation through NATO intervention on the side of the Georgians under attack seems to me to be only a matter of a few days," Chufu said.

"On the contrary," Jules contradicted, "because the West knows through me what means the Russians have at their disposal, an expansion of this border conflict is no longer possible at all. No one in the West will risk a war with Russia under this threat. It is quite possible that my indiscretion has therefore saved many thousands of lives."

Jules' words did not sound arrogant, more desperate.

"What kind of wonder weapon are the Russians supposed to have all of a sudden? It can't be?"

His son still looked at Jules curiously, but recognised in his eyes the firm decision not to give him an answer. The Philippine continued to grumble: "I'm not a little boy anymore, Jules, who has to be kept in the dark about such things. This constant secrecy is getting on my nerves nicely."

"It's for your safety, Chufu, believe me. And I'll give you some good advice: If you really need secrets, then get them yourself."

Chufu was silent for a moment after this rather harsh rebuke, looking at his adoptive father all the more stubbornly for it.

"But then I have a completely different question, Jules. I never really understood what we live on. You seem to have a lot of money, as the villa here proves, but you don't work, you just travel around the world a little now and then and you look after this mysterious Project 32 for the Masonic Lodge. You can hardly make a living at that. Did you perhaps inherit a fortune and can therefore afford to lie on your lazy skin? Or is that another of the Lederer family's big secrets that I'm not allowed to know about? You never told me the reasons why you signed on as a cook on the tanker Daisy. I only know what Gutaro told me about you at the time."

Jules looked at his son in surprise.

"You're talking to me like an adult for the first time. I'm really pleased, Chufu. You can know what I do for a living. I have been advising companies and private

individuals in difficult or even threatening situations for many years. On the Daisy, I was supposed to solve oil thefts. That was the reason why we met at that time. And I am happy that we found each other on this tanker."

"And with your consultations you earn so much money to finance a villa in a prime location on Lake Geneva?"

Chufu looked at him doubtfully.

"The world is full of problems, big and small. Everyone who contributes something to solving the bigger ones earns a golden nose from it, if they don't act too stupidly. In addition, there are always special secrets and solved puzzles that often come to you without any planning and that you can also make money from if you use them correctly."

"I need more details," Chufu now said stretched and in German, obviously in reference to an old cinema comedy with Dieter Hallervorden that the two had watched together on DVD a few days ago.

"You'll get those, I promise, in maybe four or five years."

Jules' voice did not allow any objections, even though Chufu's expression immediately darkened. The boy started a sharp retort, but Jules continued: "In four years, you will be about the same age as when I started my work. Then you will be mature enough to learn more about my work and its background. But until then, you have to be patient."

Chufu was disappointed but seemed to accept it. He knew Jules well enough and knew that that was all he could get out of him at the moment.

"And what are we going to do today? You know it's our last afternoon and evening together. My suitcases are packed and tomorrow morning I'm expected at nine o'clock sharp in the treill of the Château."

"How about a cinema? Why don't you check the programme? Any French film would be OK for me. Just no action junk from Hollywood."

"At your command, mon capitaine," saluted Chufu, "a boring art film from the Grand Nation. Some romance between a law student and a prostitute who adopt a handicapped child, with her also becoming a paraplegic in a road accident and defenceless against the hated stepmother. Culture is so important."

He rolled his eyes at this and disappeared upstairs to consult his laptop.

Jules remained sitting on the sofa for a moment. His thoughts wandered through his life so far. The loss of his wife and daughter weighed heavily on his soul. But at the same time, he felt a warm joy that Chufu had remained with him. Yes, he now had to think first and foremost of his son's future. He had to banish everything else from his mind.

But Jules felt that he could not succeed. Alabima and Alina had been far too important parts of his life for him to be able to cut them out or even block them out for a few hours. Thoughtfully, he got up, put the dishes and cutlery together and carried them into the kitchen.

2007, Winter

"I plead guilty to multiple counts of tax evasion."

Andrei Lokoviev's voice trembled slightly, which was not at all in keeping with this giant of sixty-five years. But he had been arrested by the public prosecutor's office three months ago and had been in custody ever since. During this time, he had to endure countless interrogations, the first month even without the assistance of a lawyer. Because of his good s in Iran, he was placed under suspicion of terrorism by a district judge and thus deprived of his human rights. After 9/11, George W. Bush and the then Republican-majority parliament introduced special laws that have since allowed the judiciary to soften up practically any suspect in this way, whether in Guantanamo in Cuba or here in the middle of the freedom-loving USA.

Today, finally, the billionaire stood trial for the first time. He was accused of tax fraud. A long prison sentence awaited him. The defendant looked to the few spectators as if he had bought a suit that was too wide. He was emaciated and looked extremely nervous. He repeatedly stuck his lower lip between his front teeth and chewed on it, probably to relieve stress attacks or even feelings of anxiety.

"Your written ission of guilt is before the court. The prosecution and the defence waive reading it out. Do you have anything to add yourself, Mr Lokoviev?"

The federal judge possessed a bulbous nose that was slightly reddened, perhaps

from the last sunny afternoon on the golf course. He wore dark horn-rimmed glasses and looked like an owl as he gazed down at the defendant from his elevated platform. He wasn't particularly tall, this judge, so those seated lower in the courtroom could only see his shoulders and head. The thick lenses of his glasses also meant that his eyes were greatly magnified, adding to the impression of a night bird sitting on a branch.

Lokoviev cleared his throat.

"As I had written down in my guilty plea, I was incited by employees of the bank to evade taxes. I was assured several times that everything was legal and that I was not doing anything illegal. The foundations in Liechtenstein as well as the dummy companies in the Bahamas and the s in England and Switzerland were merely set up to protect my privacy. Everything was supposed to be in a kind of grey area, but completely legal, according to current American law. It was only when the IRS started investigating that I realised that these promises were not true. The bank and its advisors simply duped me and ultimately made a criminal out of me. I therefore took legal action against those responsible myself. For this reason, I also worked closely with the IRS from the beginning. I wanted to have all this misunderstanding cleared up as quickly as possible. I am therefore immensely pleased that the main culprit has been arrested in the meantime. I hope you will, with my help and his, uncover the entire conspiracy of this bank to the detriment of the American people."

Lokoviev had carefully prepared his closing words together with his lawyers. And he had recited them aloud over and over again in his cell so that he could now let them bubble out of his mouth so smoothly and convincingly.

The federal judge nodded at him sympathetically. It was what he wanted to hear from a cooperative defendant. To an uninvolved spectator, however, the trial would have seemed like a well-rehearsed television soap opera. Each participant had dutifully learnt his or her lines by heart and usually recited them without any

real conviction, but often with grand gestures, to which the other actors replied or nodded in accordance with the ridiculous script.

"Very well. Do you, Mr. Prosecutor, have anything additional to add?"

"The tax authority will find a solution with Mr Lokoviev that will serve both sides. However, our negotiations on this matter are ongoing and will take some time. I therefore ask you, Your Honour, to determine the penalty only after the conclusion of our written agreement with Mr Lokoviev and in consideration of the same and the results achieved in the process."

Again, the judge nodded, because he was of course just as aware as the IRS representative that his sentence, with a possibly long prison term, would continue to keep the defendant compliant. The federal judge was equally aware that the IRS was primarily targeting the Swiss bank and not this American billionaire who wanted to hide a few hundred million in income from the state. The sword of Damocles of a harsh conviction would condemn Lokoviev to do everything he could to screw the bank and its representatives and to portray himself as a seduced sheep.

"Do you, Mr. Defence Counsel, have any objection to an additional waiting period for my sentence?"

The judge had approached the billionaire's legal representative.

"No, Your Honour, my client and I agree."

"All right. Mr Lokoviev, you will be released in accordance with the prosecution's requests upon the posting of bail in the amount of five hundred thousand dollars. Take your chance and come to an agreement with the tax authorities. I will then summon you all again for the pronouncement of judgement. Keep me informed of the results of the cooperation, Mr. Prosecutor."

He picked up the small hammer and tapped once sharply and briefly on the thin wooden plate on his desk.

"That concludes the proceedings."

The pitfalls for the big bank from Switzerland were laid out from the IRS's point of view. Lokoviev and the imprisoned former investment adviser and CIA employee meant heaps of well-founded allegations. There would certainly be enough evidence in federal court to prove a systematic violation of American laws and especially of the Qualified Intermediary Agreement of this bank from the Alpine country. And the threat of a criminal suit would certainly be enough to force the ridiculous government there to make concessions.

Thursday, 26 June 2008

Aleksej and Jules became their hands tied behind their backs. The older man without a name was still crying and hiding his face behind his hands. None of the guards were looking after him. No orderly or nurse was alerted either. The sight of patients in complete disintegration seemed familiar to the guards.

Jules and Alexei were roughly grabbed by the arms and led down the stairs to the basement. Through an underground connecting age they probably reached another building of the research complex. There they climbed back up to the ground floor and were led into a large room. Three men in white coats looked expectantly at them.

The walls of the laboratory, which must be more than two hundred square metres in size, were lined with complicated-looking electronic equipment on trolleys. A group of tables with chairs in one of the corners invited discussion. Four massage tables on wheels were lined up against one of the walls.

One of the white coats, an older scientist with a fringe of grey hair and a sharply cut, pointed nose, approached them curiously, gazing at them through his glasses with finger-thick lenses, scrutinising and appraising them as if they were two newly arrived guinea pigs. As he did so, he squeezed his eyelids so tightly that the skin above the root of his nose and on his forehead rippled. He probably only saw Jules and Alexei in a blur despite his strong visual aid.

"You are tresing here."

Thanks to his hoarse and at the same time distortedly shrill voice, the reproach sounded doubly unpleasant in the ears of the two prisoners. But Jules and Alexei nodded.

"Who are you?"

The arrogant, snarling tone of a non-commissioned officer in the army had added to the wry shrillness.

"We are looking for my daughter," Jules, without hesitation, let the cat out of the bag, "she was kidnapped two days ago in Moscow and brought here as far as we know."

"Then you are this Lederer?"

Could one voice express scorn and boredom at the same time?

"Yes, I am this Lederer. And I want our daughter Alina back. As you already itted with your question, she is here. So?"

The scientist looked at him in surprise.

"You want me to give you the baby back? I can't. The observation phase has long since begun. No. We can't give it back. No way."

His gaze was directed vaguely at an empty spot on the ground. He seemed to think for a moment.

"But what do we do with you two? No one has ever tresed here. Such a problem has not arisen for us so far."

Before Jules could answer, the leader of the guards interfered.

"We'll just make them disappear, Dmitri Igarivich Gerriosch. That's no problem."

Alexei and Jules had winced at the scientist's last name, which had not escaped his notice. He looked at them with a cynical smile.

"I suppose you know my brother in Saint Petersburg. Of course, you must know him. How else would you have found out about this lab here? Did you meet him at IFMO, my dear brother?"

"I've wringed that rat's neck," hissed Alexei, full of suppressed rage.

The scientist paused for a moment, then looked at him sharply for a moment, as if trying to find out if Alexei was telling the truth. Then he shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

"My brother is dead, you say. That's a pity. He was so useful."

The professor's voice did not express any inner emotion or even regret. It was as if he had been talking about a cheap toy that had broken and that he now had to try to replace, which was a small inconvenience for him. But it was time for Jules to get involved again.

"Listen, Dmitri Igariwitsch Gerriosch, there are people who know where we are. They can't just let us disappear like that. The police will investigate and will definitely come across this laboratory here."

Gerriosch was still looking at Alexei and seemed thoughtful, as if he had to consider how to deal with his brother's murderer. But then he turned his face towards the Swiss.

"You must mean your wife and stepson? I've heard about them too. Grisha, take care of it."

"Right away, Professor."

The leader of the guards left the room and Jules bit his lower lip. Hopefully, he had not unintentionally put Alabima and Chufu in danger with his statement. But how would the guards of this laboratory be able to track them down even in an insignificant boarding house in a suburb of Petrozavodsk?

"But now to them," the professor turned to Alexei again, "you killed my younger

brother, you say? But that wasn't nice of them, not nice at all. Now we have to look for a new liaison man to Moscow."

"Most of their people in Moscow are no longer alive either, I mean the ones from the FSB," Alexei hissed hatefully at the scientist. He saw before him the real mastermind behind the murder of his twin brother Sasha. If the two guards behind him had not grabbed him by the arms, he would have lunged at this monster despite his bound hands.

Gerriosch was not put off by Aleksej's confession: "So we have to replace them too? That will certainly cost us an additional two weeks of time. How unpleasant. I think your actions deserve appropriate punishment."

He had spoken the last words with a sudden thought that began to settle more and more in his brain. Gerriosch also immediately turned to the remaining armed men: "Take this man over there and strap him down."

With that he pointed to one of the couches on the wall.

Aleksej did not resist when he was led to the massage bench. He had to lie on his stomach and press his face onto the pillow with a hole in it. Then they tied his legs with leather straps, cut his hands loose and fastened his arms to the side of the bench with loops. Finally, they put another leather strap around the Russian's neck and fastened it to the side of the couch. Meanwhile, Jules tried to engage the professor in conversation.

"What kind of research are you actually doing here, Dmitri Igariwitsch Gerriosch?"

"Oh, quite different ones," he began amiably, "I can explain it to you, since you can't tell anyone else. Let's start with the perhaps less exciting topic. You know, we have been dealing with zoonotic viruses for a few years. Have you heard about it?"

"Zoonotic viruses? Aren't those viruses that are transmitted from animals to humans? I heard about that in connection with the bird flu that appeared in Southeast Asia a few years ago and that also affected humans in some cases. Meanwhile, the whole of Europe is worried and fears widespread spread by migratory birds in autumn."

"But you said that very aptly, Mr Lederer, I mean that, in some cases. Yes, the old H5N1 was still quite unreliable. Transmission was rare, almost accidental. But our research work has made further progress on this point in recent months as well."

"You are researching the bird flu viruses?" asked Jules, incredulous and concerned at the same time. He was thinking of his daughter at that moment.

"No, not research, Mr Lederer, we develop them. Or do you think that the transmission of the H5N1 virus from poultry to humans was a mere coincidence or even an accident? No, of course it was us here. We carried out the first free trial for the viruses in South-East Asia, because many people there live very closely together with their poultry. That's why, after the new zoonotic virus was discovered, the whole world thought it was a completely natural mutation."

The looseness with which Gerriosch uttered this monstrosity made Jules shudder inside. Was there anything worse than degenerate science without a recognisable

conscience? But Gerriosch continued his explanation calmly.

"Just think of the excellent application possibilities of these viruses. Until now, biological warfare agents have always had the great disadvantage that they evaporated very quickly in the open air, diluted themselves in the environment or even degraded. Their use was limited to tiny areas and short durations. But our latest strain, we call it H6N3, not only transmits much more easily from animals to humans, but it can also be spread quite accurately, sustainably and, above all, permanently, using the known flight paths of migratory birds."

Jules drew his shoulders together in a shiver as the implications of what he was saying really dawned on him. Here was a scientist planning the systematic and widespread spread of deadly pathogens.

"But that's madness, Professor. You can't let a deadly virus that is easily transmitted to humans be spread by migratory birds, can you? At some point, these birds will return and contaminate the place of origin.

"Not if the birds die within eight to twelve weeks of infection."

The scientist smiled at him in victory. He didn't seem to notice Jules' fright.

"That was one of the major difficulties in the development of H6N3. A deadly virus with a timed fuse for animals and humans. You know, the gene modifications at position 223 of the haemagglutinin receptor protein and at position 627 of the polymerase protein were still quite easy to accomplish. More difficult was the insertion of a time fuse, which first masks the virus for a certain time, but later inevitably leads to the internal bleeding of the birds. The H6N3

takes two to three weeks before the first signs of infection can be seen in the behaviour of the animals, and about twice as long in humans. This is the ideal period of time to ensure safe and widespread spread before anyone can even recognise the danger and take countermeasures. After twelve weeks at the latest, the migratory birds are dead, so they can no longer return."

"And the people?" asked Jules, shaken.

"Oh, they die primarily from influenza, don't worry. The internal bleeding also occurs in them, but it can be treated and rarely leads to death. But the immune system is of course put under additional strain by the bleeding, so the death rate in humans rises dramatically primarily because of that. From the few percentage points with the H5N1 virus, we have now reached over seventy per cent of all those infected."

Visible pride had been mixed into Gerriosch's last words. He actually thought his development was a wonderful invention, thought with no thought of the great suffering it could spread. Jules was horrified.

"Are you also developing an antidote against the pathogen? You must at least be able to protect your own population?"

"That is a good point. Of course, we are working on creating a suitable vaccine. But H6N3 is unfortunately still beyond our control at the moment. But I am confident that in one or two years we will be able to develop an appropriate antidote."

The scientist seemed to be caught up in his own insane world of thought, not

understanding that he could become a mass murderer by developing such a dangerous virus. He seemed only interested in researching the pathogen and perfecting it into an operational and deadly weapon.

Professor Gerriosch turned away from Jules and stepped towards the couch with Alexei tied to it.

"Ah, our new patient is ready for radiation."

The professor's voice expressed satisfaction and also an abundance of childlike anticipation.

"Your friend will now meet our second, far more important branch of research, Jules Ivanovich Lederer. Yes, I know your full name, although I don't know too much else about you or your family. But I am convinced they will be delighted with the result of our research."

With that, he waved to the two other white-coated and much younger men in the room. They looked rather coarse with their low foreheads and strong shoulders, appearing to Jules like the long since jaded aides of a man, carrying out every order without caring about consequences because, in their opinion, they bore no responsibility.

Jules ed a study on the human psyche in the 1960s. Two supposedly voluntary test subjects were brought together. One was supposed to question the other and punish him with an electric shock if he gave the wrong answer. With each wrong answer, the electric shock was intensified, as a terrible kind of motivation. But the interviewee was in fact not a test person, but a paid actor

who merely played the role of someone who was shocked by electric shocks. For the alleged electric shocks did not exist either. The actor gave many wrong answers and the strength of the electric shocks increased rapidly.

The series of experiments at that time showed that about two thirds of the test subjects would have tortured the actor to death in the chair without mercy if the electric chair had been real. Most of them wanted to stop again and again in between, for example when the tortured person cried out loudly in pain and begged for the test to be stopped immediately. But whenever the experimenter reassured them that he was fully responsible for the further course of the experiment, the punishment was continued until the death of the other person.

This kind of investigation into the human psyche triggered a heated discussion at the time about what research was allowed and what was not. In the USA, such experiments were even banned. But in Europe and Australia, the same experimental set-up was repeated many years later. In Australia in the 1970s, however, only about forty per cent of the subjects could be persuaded to torture the restrained person to death. The majority of Australians were not so well suited to be torturers. In in the 1980s, on the other hand, eighty percent of the participants had no problem killing another person. All that was needed was for someone else to take responsibility. That's how little one's own history teaches one, and the future Eichmanns of this earth will probably again have no problem finding willing torturers and murderers.

During these brief, dark thoughts of Jules, the two assistants had stepped up to the mobile couch and pushed it over to a tall apparatus attached to one of the walls. Alexei's head disappeared under a metal bell peppered with electrodes and wires.

"What dose, Dmitri Igariwitsch Gerriosch?" one of the two white coats asked routinely and busily, turning to the professor.

"I think one hundred and fifty for thirty seconds should be enough."

"A hundred and fifty?"

The man had flinched in fright.

"Yes, one hundred and fifty," the scientist answered gruffly and defiantly, "we don't need him afterwards. It only serves as a demonstration so that Jules Ivanovich understands the principle of our research".

"You can also explain your scientific activities to me in words, Professor Gerriosch," Jules quickly interjected, "a demonstration is really unnecessary."

"But it's such fun," the scientist was undeterred and he seemed to be looking forward like a child to what was coming, but became serious immediately afterwards and asked the Swiss, "have you ever heard of Beate Hermelin or Allan Snyder?"

Jules only had to rummage in his brain for a moment.

"Beate Hermelin is probably the world's best-known researcher in the field of autism," he answered Gerriosch's question, "and I once read about Allan Snyder in connection with savant syndrome, if it is Professor Snyder from Sidney."

The scientist nodded with joy. He seemed to recognise in Jules a docile pupil and attentive observer whom he could now lead step by step on the tracks of his research work.

"Excellent. But what is savant syndrome?" the professor continued to ask, now seeming genuinely eager for the Swiss man's answer.

"Savant syndrome is also called insular giftedness. They are mostly autistic people who have developed a specific, extraordinary skill. There are mathematical geniuses or people who learn new languages in a few days or have a photographic memory. Dustin Hoffman played an autistic person with insularity true to life in the film Rain Man, even if his role involved too many different talents for a single savant."

The scientist was visibly pleased with Jules' answer and smiled happily.

"You are extraordinarily knowledgeable, Mr Lederer, for a layman, I mean. I like that. And when you hear the name Allan Snyder, what else rings a bell?"

"Professor Snyder is researching the possibility of artificially generating island gifts," Jules glanced slightly irritated at Alexei and the metal bell with the many wires that was placed over the back of his head. Suspecting something evil and therefore faltering, he slowly added, "with the help of electromagnetic rays".

"Bravo, Mr Lederer. I see you already know a little about the matter. As the guards told me, you and your companion were picked up by our gifted Fedya

upstairs? He's one of our best results so far. Can you believe that only a few years ago Fedya had an intelligence quotient of less than eighty and could hardly read, let alone write? But since our treatment two years ago, he devours three to four books every day. And he doesn't forget a single word of it, can even tell them of every piece of information in which book and on which page and line it is written. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Only his own name, he has somehow forgotten it," Jules interjected bitingly.

"Yes, you are right about that. But that is precisely the phenomenal thing about our treatment method. Afterwards, the subjects concentrate completely on their future task and forget everything that lies behind them. The re-polarisation of the brain takes place by erasing most of the memories beforehand. Only in this way is the memory really freed up for reordering and refilling."

"But for what purpose do they create autistic people?"

Jules shook his head uncomprehendingly, whereupon Gerriosch looked at him with amusement.

"Not autists, but savants, Mr Lederer. But please be patient for a moment longer. As soon as we have treated your companion Alexei appropriately, I'm sure you'll see for yourself in a moment."

Jules shook his head silently in refusal. But since the guards behind him had long since moved closer and one had placed his hand onishingly on the Swiss man's shoulder, the second had drilled the muzzle of his Kalashnikov unmistakably into his back, he remained standing calmly.

Gerriosch nodded theatrically to his assistants. They had merely waited next to the apparatus for the scientist's command. One of them pressed the red start button on the machine, the second looked at his watch. A few lights lit up and a low hum could be heard that grew in strength. After three or four seconds, Alexei began to moan on the couch and tug at his bonds. A few moments later he cried out loudly in pain, tossing and turning, unable to shake off the vicious bell on the back of his head.

Jules looked at Professor Gerriosch next to him. He showed a cynical and at the same time repulsively lecherous smile, but otherwise looked on completely coldly at the writhing and screaming of the tortured man. After a few more unbearable seconds, Aleksej rebelled violently in his bonds, almost threatening to break them. Then his body went limp and collapsed. The Russian had finally fallen into a merciful unconsciousness.

The second man on the machine signalled to the other with his hand and he finally pressed the off button. The hum of the machine quietened and died a few seconds later. Gerriosch looked at Jules triumphantly.

"Of course, in a real treatment, we are much gentler with the test subjects and increase the dose slowly, also directing it to specific areas of the brain. In the case of your friend, we performed a fast run. It cooked large parts of his brain, as we call it."

"Is he dead?" asked Jules uncertainly, looking down at the limp Aleksej.

"Dead? I hope not. No, no, don't worry. At his age, the treatment should never be fatal. Your companion will surely get back on his feet."

With that, he beckoned one of the assistants. He went over to the unconscious man and inserted a syringe that had been drawn from an ampoule into his upper arm.

"It's just a strong stimulant to help him regain consciousness more quickly. Ah, it's already starting to work, as you can see," the professor reported with satisfaction.

Alexei actually began to stir on the couch and Gerriosch's two assistants freed him from his restraints on arms and legs, also pulled the electrode bell from the back of his head and removed the tether behind his neck. After a while, the Russian sat up unsteadily and swaying slightly, looking at Jules and the professor with a foolish face, as if he were seeing the two men for the first time in his life. The Swiss had to swallow hard and dry at the sight, especially when he recognised the forlornness in Alexei's eyes.

Gerriosch stepped up to the tortured man.

"What is your name?"

Alexei didn't seem to have heard or understood anything, just kept smiling foolishly at the professor.

"How are you feeling?"

This question also remained unanswered.

"With the radiation, we also destroyed most of his speech centre. He would have to learn to speak all over again. But now you have to take a close look at this, Jules Ivanovich Lederer. Please come a little closer."

Jules complied, looking anxiously into Alexei's face, trying to catch the Russian's eyes. Without success. He showed no recognition, hardly a movement, just continued to look at Jules like a stranger. In the meantime, Gerriosch had fetched a small metal hammer from one of the trolleys.

"You must be familiar with reflex control from your own visits to the doctor?"

With these words, he tapped Aleksej's left knee briefly and dryly, just below the t disc. The Russian's lower leg remained completely motionless, as if Alexei had felt nothing at all. Triumphantly, the professor turned to Jules.

"So, what do you say now?"

Jules was visibly concerned and therefore gave an honest answer.

"Frightening. As far as I know, the patellar tendon reflex of the knee is controlled by the spinal cord and not by the brain. I have no explanation for why it's absent in Alexei."

"Yes? No explanation? But isn't that wonderful?"

The professor was as happy as a little boy.

"Our radiation removed all the automatic pain reflexes in his body, not only the reflexes in his brain but also those in the spinal cord."

And with that, he tapped his hammer hard and directly on Alexei's right kneecap. The dry blow produced a dull, bony sound that went through Jules' marrow. Aleksej, however, did not seem to feel the slightest of this exceedingly rough abuse either, continuing to smile at her in a relaxed and dimwitted manner.

"Aleksej," Gerriosch turned directly and insistently to Jules' companion, "your name is Aleksej."

The person addressed did not react. The scientist therefore grabbed him on the left and right upper arms.

"Alexei, Alexei," he called to him a few times, shaking his upper body back and forth.

"Aaalegggsssseeeeeii", the abused man mumbled in reply. His brain must have been burnt to mush by the radiation.

"Stand up, Alexei."

Gerriosch pulled his object of study down from the couch, which the latter willingly let happen to him. At first, he stood there swaying a little, but quickly got a grip.

"You see, Jules Ivanovich Lederer, although his pain reflexes are switched off, he can still stand upright and does not topple over. All his other reflexes are still working without much impairment. And now look at this."

He fetched a small pad of darning needles from the same trolley as the hammer before, picked up Aleksej's right arm, bending his elbow to a right angle, pointed the Russian's palm upwards and let him stretch out his fingers. Slowly, almost tenderly, Gerriosch stuck a first needle into the middle of Alexei's adductor, just below the thumb. The tortured man still seemed to feel no pain, just watching with interest as the professor sank the needle deeper into his hand. A second followed the first, then a third. There was no reaction from Alexei.

"Do you now recognise the potential of our special treatment, Mr Lederer?"

"The potential?"

Jules' voice sounded depressed, almost desperate.

"Of course. Imagine an army of soldiers completely insensitive to pain. You wouldn't believe how long a human body remains able to fight if it feels no pain

at all. Our friend here could lose an arm or even a leg without caring. He could continue fighting for a few more minutes, killing many more enemies in the meantime before he es out and dies either because of blood loss or because the marrow is leaking."

Gerriosch looked at Jules, beaming with joy. The Swiss felt nauseous.

"But how are you going to give orders to such a dull and mindless soldier anyway? Autistic people don't obey any rules imposed on them from outside, do they?"

The scientist's enthusiasm cooled noticeably at Jules' words and this state of mind did not seem to please Gerriosch at all.

"Yes, we still have to work on that. But it's only a matter of time before we achieve the desired results on this point as well."

Jules brushed his dismay aside, trying to focus again on the mad scientist.

"Dmitri Igariwitsch Gerriosch, I assumed until now that this laboratory was financed by private investors," he interjected, "but what interest would private individuals have in creating such super soldiers or developing a deadly virus? Or am I wrong and you work for the Russian government?"

"For the government? No, they rejected my research direction from the start and later even took away my chair in Moscow, those idiots."

"Then I guess there's a terrorist organisation behind your work that needs willless suicide bombers?"

"For suicide bombers? All that research just to recruit suicide bombers. What a ridiculous thought. On every street corner you get a few dumbed-down idiots who like to blow themselves up," the professor sneered, "no, they're completely wrong. Our research goes far beyond that. However, I it I don't know exactly what my client will ultimately use our research results for. But that doesn't interest me either because it's primarily about feasibility. The responsibility for the results must be assumed and borne by others later. That cannot be the task of us scientists. But enough of that now."

With that he turned to the guards. They had watched the demonstration with interest at first, but then quite indifferently. They were probably already familiar with this madness.

"Please show Jules Ivanovich Lederer and also Alexei here to cell number seventeen. We'll take care of them again later."

*

The room had two tubular steel beds facing each other in narrow confinement. The thin mattresses reminded Jules of his military days with the hard bed pads filled with horsehair. The dark brown sheep's wool blankets with the white cross on a red background, which scratched the skin unpleasantly, had to be folded together with the sheets so that the Swiss cross lay exactly in the middle of the bed. And those who did not pay attention to this as recruits often found the bed

contents rumpled and thrown on the floor when they returned to the dormitory. This seemed to have been one of the most urgent tasks of the sergeants in this army. Here in the cell, however, there was nothing at all, neither pillows nor blankets, apart from the thin mattress.

His handcuffs had been kindly untied before he and Alexei were locked in the cell. The Russian sat absent-mindedly on the cot and stared through Jules at the grey-washed, bare wall behind him. A dim, dirty light bulb bathed the room in a dull, greenish light that barely cast any shadows.

First, Jules had pulled the three needles out of Alexei's hand. The small wounds were bleeding only a little. If the needles were disinfected, they should not become infected even without medical treatment. Then the Swiss grabbed his Russian friend by both hands. Alexei's fingers felt terribly cold.

"Alyosha?"

"Aaaliosch...", his friend replied, his lower jaw rolling strangely as he did so, as if he had a handful of tree nuts in his mouth that he had to chew on while speaking.

"Alyosha? Can you understand me?"

"Aaaliosch..."

It seemed hopeless. The Russian did not respond to his name, only tried to repeat

what he heard. Jules had to find something else to get through to him, to perhaps trace a remnant of his old mind somewhere, a last vestige of his former human existence that might have been hiding in a corner of his battered brain and had escaped irradiation.

"Alexandr", Jules said and shook his friend by the hands. But he looked at him without understanding.

"Sascha, your brother," the Swiss repeated louder.

One of the Russian's eyelids twitched.

"Alexandr and Alexei. Alyosha and Sasha. You were twin brothers."

Alexandr's face began to work, as if a realisation in his brain had to struggle through huge storm waves, a knowledge that was blocked or overlaid by something else.

"Sascha, your brother, ? Sascha."

Aleksej turned his head a little, as if he had to bring his left ear closer to Jules' mouth to understand him better.

"Sasha. Sasha. , Alyosha."

His friend suddenly snatched his hands away and threw his arms up as if he had to catch a ball.

"Saaaaasch..."

Then his arms dropped again and his upper body went limp. His gaze also slipped away and the Russian began to stare through him again at the wall behind him.

Jules lost all hope. The treatment by Gerriosch's diabolical apparatus had robbed his friend of his mind and turned him into an imbecile. Perhaps his brain still ed individual shreds of his former memory, but too much had been irretrievably erased.

Jules fell into a furious brooding, over the fate of Alexei, over the death of Alexandr and over his beloved Alina, who was somewhere in this research complex, kidnapped by hired criminals and at the mercy of a mad scientist. And now here he sat, himself trapped and imprisoned and forced into inaction. What happened to him the Swiss didn’t care. But the fact that he could do nothing more to save his daughter weighed heavily on him. A leaden lethargy began to settle in him, trying to suck up all his energy.

He brushed the dark thoughts aside. No. He could not give up yet, despite the seemingly hopeless situation. How many times in his life had he been in almost unwinnable situations where a door still opened for him?

Only twice, no, actually three times, he honestly itted to himself. And none of them had been as threatening as this one. But if he gave himself up, then it was definitely over with him and with his Alina.

No, that was simply not allowed. Never. He had to stay alert, keep looking for ways to improve his seemingly hopeless situation. And to do that, he had to rest, sleep, regather his bodily strength, calm his tense nerves.

Yes, and then, after waking up, he would have to start fighting with every fibre as soon as the slightest chance presented itself.

Jules felt the inner turmoil begin to subside and give way more and more to a cold calm. It began behind his hot forehead, sank over his temples, cheeks, and jaw down to his neck. Jules breathed in deeply and slowly, suddenly felt himself released from the nightmare pressure, felt the coolness of the air begin to spread through his upper body as well.

He listened to his still throbbing heartbeat, breathed in and out calmly, reduced the number of beats to less than fifty per minute by willpower, as he had learned in a Buddhist monastery many years ago, sinking into a kind of meditation.

When his body had completely relaxed and his head had cleared of all negative thoughts, he stretched out on the mattress and was asleep in the next second.

Thursday, 31 July 2008

"The boarding school in Rosey would work, Chufu. All you have to do is go for it."

Jules looked at his son with encouraging joy.

"I don't know if this is really the right thing for me."

Chufu grumbled as usual when the subject of his further schooling came up. His son had seemed aimless to Jules for a few months, even if he secretly itted to himself that he had been no different at the same age.

"You should definitely take the Matura, no matter what you want to do later professionally. And at the boarding school you have the best conditions for that. We could drive by there this afternoon and have a look if you like. Rosey is also close by. You could even stay here with me and only go to school there during the day. However, I don't really recommend that, because only if you live at the boarding school itself will your class accept you as a full member."

"You were at a boarding school near here yourself, you told me once? Didn't it suck there?"

"Unlike the Château, my school was a boys' boarding school. And I really can't

recommend such an institution to you from experience."

"Why? Did they have too many gay students or what?" Chufu returned with a grin.

"More like too many gay teachers. But that's not the point. At your age, you should simply practise dealing with the fair womanhood. Otherwise, you'll never be a successful heartbreaker."

"Ha, ha. I've rarely laughed so much, Jules. I have to agree with you, though. Your years in an all-boys boarding school don't seem to have done much for your heart-breaking skills. After all, you haven't even been able to hold Alabima."

The young man didn't seem to notice the flaring pain in Jules' face yet, because he continued unperturbed: "Why is she gone? I don't understand your quarrel. I always thought you two were meant for each other. And then she just moves out at the drop of a hat and disappears. What's going on between you two? What happened? Do you at least know where she disappeared to?"

It took Jules a moment to press down the glowing pain in his chest. The separation from his beloved wife weighed more heavily on him every day, as he had long since itted to himself, and not only during the all-too-silent nights. Their relationship had grown and matured steadily in their two years together. The tempestuous infatuation and desire that had flared up in Ethiopia had long since turned into a deeply felt attachment. The two of them had never see each other’s like temporary companions, had always felt that they simply belonged together, like a pair of gloves. If you lose one, the other is worth far less than half. Jules was sure that Alabima still felt that way too. And yet she had left him.

"We didn't get along anymore, which means Alabima could no longer commit to a life with me, I think. You know, Chufu, when we met then, I warned her strongly about me, my life, and my work. But she wouldn't listen and, in the end, convinced me that she was strong enough to be happy by my side. And I think she was for a long time. But with the kidnapping of Alina, everything changed. And to answer your second question: No, I don't know where Alabima went. But I called her parents in Addis Ababa yesterday and informed them that Alabima had separated from me and that she had left our house. From Luena's reaction, I conclude that Alabima has returned to her old home, perhaps to get some distance from everything first and to think and her own future in peace."

"Do you think she'll come back to you at some point?"

"I certainly hope so. But I don't know. But we definitely have to give her time."

"In a way, I can understand Alabima. Without your work, there would have been no trip to Moscow. And then Alina wouldn't have been kidnapped either. Well, it's all water under the bridge anyway. You had your chance with Alabima, you blew it, and now you have to wait and see if she comes back to you. But here's another question. The weather is nice, the lake is calm, shall we take the boat out for a few laps?"

Jules was amazed at his son's sudden leap of faith. How light-heartedly young people dealt with such problems? Unpleasant things are simply pushed out of the consciousness, life is seen from the cheerful side and enjoyed to the full, no matter what may come in the future. He envied Chufu a little for this impartiality and wondered where or when he had lost his own lightness of being. Did he perhaps consider himself or his knowledge too important? As a woman once said to her neighbour: "My husband decides whether the American president is doing

a good or bad job, whether the Israelis are right to bomb the Palestinians and whether the Pope is right or wrong. I, on the other hand, decide where we go on holiday, which car we buy and what kind of food is put on the table.

Perhaps it was a kind of megalomania that he wanted to use his knowledge to become involved in world politics? One of the most important insights of the Greek philosopher Epicurus came to his mind: You are not there for a god with his church and not for a state and certainly not for a task in the great-power of culture. You are there to fill your single, unique life with happiness.

"Earth to Jules, Earth to Jules. Have you ed out or are you going to answer my question during today?"

Chufu's less than respectful salutation jolted Jules out of his train of thought. For a moment he looked at his son in confusion, then he said: "Yes, let's go out on the lake. We'll take the diving equipment with us and see if we can find some Hemimysis anomala yet."

"You mean those floating shrimp we discovered last winter?"

"Yes, indeed. If we find any now, in the middle of summer, they'll probably be swarming again next winter and we can explore further. Well, do you want to?"

"Why not? But can you dive again at all? I mean with your injured shoulder?"

"I'll be fine if you help me put on the wetsuit and the bottles."

"And where are we going to eat afterwards? My stomach is already hanging between my legs."

"How about the Château d'Ouchy? They're offering oysters this week. And then we'll take a taxi from Lausanne and drive up to the boarding school so you can have a look around and then decide."

"Oysters? What do you need a sexual enhancer for, Jules, now that Alabima's not here?"

"Cheeky boy, I'll belt you one. You act as if I needed to strengthen my libido. But this seafood, lightly gratinated, with Pierre's delicious curry sauce, is quite simply a heavenly treat. But what do you think about the subsequent visit to the boarding school?"

"It doesn't cost anything to look. But will you ever be able to convince me?"

"It's not me who will convince you, son, it's the girls there."

*

The oysters were indeed to die for, even though Jules ordered them with a sabayon instead of the delicious curry sauce. They tasted so fantastic that he

subsequently talked chef Pierre Hernoz out of the recipe. You needed half a dozen rock oysters per person. They were opened and the flesh and liquid poured through a fine sieve, carefully removing any broken fragments of shell. Sugar snap peas and carrots were cut into small lozenges, blanched, tossed briefly in hot butter and dabbed on kitchen paper. The vegetables were seasoned with a little pepper and salt and kept warm in the oven. The collected oyster liquid was heated. When it started to boil, add the mussel meat, and let it poach gently for four minutes. Three egg yolks, some white wine and more oyster liquor were whipped into a creamy sabayon. Crème fraiche was mixed in and seasoned with pepper and salt. Put some of the vegetables into the deeper half of the shell, place the flesh of an oyster on top and pour a little sabayon over it. The ensemble was gratinated under the grill until the surface was lightly browned. The easiest way to serve it was on a platter sprinkled thickly with sea salt so that the oyster shells rested firmly and did not topple over when served.

Jules' son, however, did not choose the oysters, but, as always at the Château, the entrecote on a pepper sauce with French fries and a side of vegetables. The fried potatoes were not on the house menu, but the chef complied with Chufu's request every time.

"A big guy like me doesn't get enough from a few mussels," he said, justifying his choice.

"I can't expect a youngster like you knows anything about culture and real pleasures. I gave up that hope long ago, my dear son, whether it's food or wine. Mass instead of class seems to be the slogan of your generation."

"You and your crying, Jules. When will you finally realise that my taste buds are not yet completely degenerated and that I can therefore hardly get down, let alone enjoy, the ancient stuff that you usually pour into your mouth? For this swill I would have to be at the age of a methuselah like you. But I it, the dry champagne with dinner today was really a poem. What was it?"

"A Comptes de Champagne 1990 from Taittinger, a so-called Blanc-de-blanc, that is, a wine made from one hundred percent Chardonnay grapes."

"Yes, it was delicious with the entrecôte. In any case, better than the red wines you usually order with meat dishes, that Château stuff from Bordeaux."

"Oh, holy simplicity, listen to that," Jules said, playfully indignant and theatrical, "who is going to give my son some insights into some of the most beautiful cultural achievements of mankind? Must I wait forever for his enlightenment? But believe me one thing. In a few years you'll be on your knees begging me to let you have the key to my cellar treasures from time to time."

"I'm afraid you won't live to be that old."

Jules still loved these verbal arguments with his son. They were battles of words, sometimes conducted with a sharp tongue, crossing like rapier blades in a duel, sharpening mind and wit alike, sometimes crude, and almost vulgar, as if executed with a broadsword on a battlefield. Unfortunately, the light-heartedness necessary for this flared up so rarely between them since Alabima's escape. Jules had long suspected that Chufu wanted to spare him somehow and therefore rarely got involved in this game.

They had left the restaurant and headed for the boat landing to catch a taxi. They spent the afternoon at the boarding school, looking at the facilities, talking to the director and a teacher. As Jules had expected, Chufu was quickly convinced of the quality of what was on offer. After all, Le Rosey boasted that no more than ten percent of the students came from the same nation. And so Chufu quickly

took a liking to the pretty South American girls and the no less striking Asian girls on campus.

"And you really went to an all-boys boarding school for four years?" was his final comment on the way back to the harbour, "I guess you really are a lost cause, Jules."

The taxi driver's face in the rear mirror showed a broad grin.

2008, Summer

"Have you read the latest headlines yet?"

Chufu came down from his room for breakfast together and sat down at the dining room table with bright eyes and a broad, expectant smile.

"No, I haven't started the laptop yet today," Jules said calmly. But his adopted son's lively joie de vivre was already beginning to transfer to him and finally dispel the dark thoughts of last night.

"Laptop? Reading the newspaper over the internet? What decade are you living in?" Chufu said snidely, wiggling his iPod in front of Jules, "a simple app for Reuters news and you're always informed about everything important.

Jules waved it off.

"Oh, all the modern communication stuff of the youth just floods your brains but leaves hardly any traces. Who explains to you what is really going on? You just look at headlines and form some kind of opinion based on ignorance and ignorance. On the internet, on the other hand, you can read whole articles and additionally do further research and also look through second opinions on the letters to the editor."

Chufu looked at him in horror.

"Letters to the editor? Ever heard of Twitter? That's how people exchange information these days. I'm starting to think I live with a caveman."

"Information and comments limited to 140 characters? From this you are supposed to be able to form an opinion or perhaps make your really wellfounded opinion known? How much research and content can you squeeze into 140 characters? Twitter, Facebook and all that stuff just leads to opinions once formed being ed on hundreds of thousands of times and thus cemented without having to correspond to the truth. Even better: one simply hangs on to the information drip that nurtures one's own prejudices and only exchanges ideas with like-minded people. Canalisation of the thought landscape is what I call this, and I mean all the dirt and lies that are spread unchecked and often enjoy a large following."

Chufu made a sharp retort about Jules' unkind statement but thought better of it.

"All right then. Then show me your superiority in gathering information and evaluating it. I'll throw you a few cues and you'll then pour out your vast cornucopia of reason and knowledge on me. Agreed?"

Jules had to smile. Ever since Alabima had left him, the pain of separation had haunted him. But for the moment it had faded.

"Go ahead, my dear friend, test the power," he returned to his son with a mocking smile.

"All right. How do you feel about the tax fraud of the Americans and the misconduct of the big Swiss bank?"

"Oh, a sensitive and complex topic. Well chosen, because all the headlines and short commentaries fail miserably here. Even I am forced to elaborate a bit more."

A certain unwillingness could be read on Chufu's face as he buttered his first half of the roll. At the same time, his furrowed brow indicated that he was paying attention.

"Switzerland and the USA concluded a new double taxation agreement at the end of the 1990s. By mutual agreement, a few loopholes were deliberately built into it, but also a nasty inaccuracy. The loopholes were used by banks to hide US citizens' money from the US tax authorities. A few years later, the Americans pushed through the so-called QI agreement worldwide. It obliges foreign banks to ensure that US citizens declare their assets abroad on their tax returns. A bank that does not sign the QI Agreement is no longer allowed to buy American securities. The banks in Switzerland now assumed that their tax shelter constructions with letterbox companies and foundations were still permitted due to the double taxation agreement despite the tightened QI regulations. They therefore did not adjust their business models accordingly. Everything clear so far?"

Chufu nodded, chomping.

"However, the US courts quickly changed their previous practice after the introduction of the new QI treaty. They no longer assessed shell companies and

trusts as separate legal entities if there was a suspicion that they had been set up solely for the purpose of tax avoidance. The courts therefore reached through these companies and trusts and looked for the beneficial owners behind them. But because the double taxation agreement between the USA and Switzerland speaks of tax fraud and similar offences, the US courts unilaterally extended their views on Switzerland's istrative assistance to tax evasion as well. Tax evasion is an offence in Switzerland, but not a criminal offence. And since istrative assistance is only granted for criminal offences, the Swiss authorities and also the Swiss banks continued to believe that their US clients were protected from the access of the US tax authorities, no matter what the US courts also thought from their point of view. However, this has now proven to be a politically untenable position. After the bank was so badly hit economically by its US business with the subprime papers, the American IRS was able to put it under heavy pressure with a criminal suit for the alleged tax offences. The existence of the largest bank in the country is thus at stake, with incalculable consequential costs for the Swiss economy and the population. The Federal Council will therefore have to give in sooner or later. The American tax authorities will probably be able to undermine bank-client confidentiality to a large extent. This has less to do with the existing agreements and treaties than with the power politics of the USA. It has the bank firmly in its grip and therefore law and order are hardly of interest anymore. Have you understood everything so far?

"But sure. So far, material for eighth graders. But do you think tax evasion and tax fraud are okay? Doesn't a state have the right, or rather the duty, to collect fair taxes from all its inhabitants?"

"What is fair in this context? Is it okay for an Iraqi living in the US to pay for the bombs dropped on his family back home? Please don't forget: the USA is the most aggressive nation of the last fifty years. No other country has had so many conflicts. Shouldn't responsible and moral people revolt and try to withhold as much money as possible from this state? Would it not even be the duty of every single Christian to defraud this state financially?"

Chufu now looked a little thoughtful, even nodded slowly: "Good point. Disobedience to a state that does not represent one's own convictions. But democracy works through majorities and so one must learn to accept unpopular decisions.

"Democracy? Neither the black nor the Latino population in the USA is represented in parliament or government according to their share of the population. Other large groups such as women, gays, and lesbians or all the faiths also have no real voice in Washington. The state can hardly excuse itself by saying that the current rulers represent the average of the people and thus also represent their will."

"Okay, let's leave that point for now," the Filipino said, reaching for the jar of forest honey, "let's move on to another topic: the financial crisis."

"And what do you want to know about it?"

"The banks are to blame for the crisis, especially the highly paid managers with their million-dollar bonuses, aren't they? That's why the governments have to keep a tighter rein on the banks, so that such catastrophes can be prevented in the future. The speculators must be stopped."

"Then you want to abandon the market economy and capitalism and introduce blanket socialism instead?"

Chufu looked at Jules uncomprehendingly.

"What does one have to do with the other?"

"If people are no longer allowed to speculate, then sooner or later an economic system will amount to complete control by an army of officials. After all, what is speculation in essence? If a CFO hedges next year's expected business in US dollars, surely that is already a form of speculation? In any case, he at least chooses the time for the foreign exchange transaction. He also does not know the amount of the turnover. So should such hedging be banned in the future?"

"No, of course not."

"And if a supervisory authority requires a bank to calculate the risk in its investments based on the creditworthiness of the debtors and derives the minimum amount of its equity capital from this. Is that speculation?"

"No, of course not either."

"But what about when, because of this requirement, the banks buy a great many investments that, according to the criteria of the supervisory authority, do not involve any risk and they therefore hardly need any equity capital for them. Do you call that speculation?"

This time Chufu's "no" came hesitantly and stretched, because the Filipino already suspected where his adoptive father wanted to lead him.

"But that is exactly what the bank managers did when they bought up subprime

mortgage securities from the USA in huge quantities. They were considered riskfree and were therefore not speculation. And anyway, it was the American government that set the goal that every US citizen should soon become the owner of a house or flat. The investment bankers basically only showed the responsible government how to finance such a huge building boom and how to spread the loans to people as widely as possible. You can hardly call that speculation either, at most complicity. The bank managers as accomplices of the US government."

Chufu was now noticeably unsettled. But then his youthful defiance prevailed.

"That's a bit too abstract for me. Let's go back to the previous topic with the tax matter. This former investment advisor, this Rosenbaum, he really is dirty. He served this American billionaire Lokoview for years as an aide to tax evasion. What Rosenbaum was able to reveal to the prosecution: Forged bank statements and diamonds in tubes of toothpaste. And all nicely covered up by his superiors, all the way up to the bank's management. A state has to intervene and bust the whole gang of crooks, right?"

Now Jules laughed out loud.

"You don't know the American justice system very well. Have you ever heard the term whistleblower? Yes? Do you know that, according to American law, a whistleblower receives up to thirty per cent of the sum that the treasury can collect thanks to his help as a reward? In Rosenbaum's case, that could easily be several billion dollars."

Chufu's eyes spoke volumes.

"A few billion dollars?" he said in amazement.

"Of course. The big bank is said to have up to fifty billion dollars in untaxed assets of US Americans. If banking secrecy is completely lifted, at least ten billion of that will end up in the pockets of the American tax authorities. We are talking about a poker game by Rosenbaum for up to three billion dollars. How credible are his accusations in view of this possible windfall? Can we believe anything he tells us? Did you know that the guy was involved in an obscure deal with the government of Kenya a few years ago? The government there paid many millions of dollars to a non-existent company for a computer system that was never delivered. This deal allegedly involved not only ministers in Kenya but also the CIA."

"But why would a bank hire such a shady person in the first place?"

"Maybe they didn't know? Maybe he could bring in some very wealthy Americans as clients right away, from which the bank expected a high return? Rosenbaum came to them from Barclays Bank, which is quite a reputable bank. Moreover, the big bank employs many thousands of client advisors. There are certainly a few dozen rotten eggs among them, it can't be otherwise. Perhaps this American billionaire named Andrei Lokoviev also worked directly and from the beginning with the tax authorities and this Rosenbaum? Maybe the whole tax debacle has been planned and executed from the beginning? ed by the secret services of the USA? In any case, Lokoviev is no stranger to tax evasion in the USA. Ten years ago, the US tax authorities brought a case against him. It was about one hundred and fifty million dollars that the billionaire should have paid in arrears because he claimed to live in Florida instead of California. The court case was settled in 2004 with a ridiculously small fine. Maybe the big Swiss bank kicked out its investment adviser Rosenbaum when it learned of his cooperation with the IRS? Or of that dubious case in Kenya where the CIA was said to be involved? But the trap had, of course, long since been sprung at that point."

Chufu shook his head in wonder.

"Are you actually sucking all this out of your fingers or how do you really know anything?"

"I use my brain and I do a little research. You can find all these facts and figures on the internet in old newspaper reports. But you have to search for them, you can't just rely on a few headlines that are sent to your iPod fresh every day, according to selection criteria that you don't know. Always that many major US media outlets are controlled by a few people. What if those people have certain political agendas and are directing their TV and radio stations, their newspapers, and magazines accordingly? What if they have long been working on behalf of a government? Paid by it."

Chufu now smiled mockingly.

"Conspiracy theories? The state power is evil and wants to take the population for fools, direct them in this way at will? 1984 and all that?"

Jules looked at his boy seriously.

"Why is it that companies like Facebook, Twitter and a dozen others can run up losses for many years and still be generously supplied with more money? Who gives them these millions? Who has so much money that they can pour billions of it every year into companies whose business strategy is to offer free services?"

"You mean these companies are funded by US intelligence? That's ridiculous."

Chufu's voice sounded less convincing at his last statement than his words indicated.

"I am not saying that it has to be that way. But the US Army has long since itted one thing. The location of Saddam Hussein in Iraq, I mean this primitive bunker on a remote farm where they were able to arrest him at the time, this location was found out by the secret services with the help of data from the social networks and on the basis of telephone calls. A specialised NSA computer programme analysed the electronic communication between the dictator's acquaintances, relatives, and former close associates. In this way, further, previously unknown accomplices were found and in the end the spider was caught in its own web. Tracking down the entrance to the bunker was then just a diligence job within a limited radius. Saddam Hussein was basically tracked down and finished off unerringly from a distance of perhaps twenty thousand kilometres. If that doesn't scare you?"

Chufu had become thoughtful.

"The technical possibilities of computer science are far from exhausted in this respect, my son. Big Brother is watching you is certainly no longer in the distant future, but has already been partially implemented, is running permanently and successfully. Think also of the other worldwide wiretapping services of the NSA. Most telephone conversations today are recorded and tapped for irritant words."

"But if democratic states use such means against terrorists and other criminals, then surely that's okay?"

"Where do you think the line is between a democracy and, say, an aristocracy?"

"What do you mean? According to Aristotle, an aristocracy is the rule of the best. From this, the peerage was later formed and more and more only the family lineage counted, no longer the ability and knowledge to reach the highest political offices."

Jules beamed at his son.

"You've really got a lot going for you, respect man," this time Jules pronounced the last two words in German and with the intonation of a Turkish secondo, "but what do you think, for example, about a family like the Kennedys in the USA? Or about the Bush family? Two presidents and the governor of Florida are known to the whole world. But there are other family who sit at the levers of the economy. Did you know that George Bush, W's father, was head of the CIA for a few years before becoming American president? In the US, Congress is made up of 535 elected . Many of them have been in the Senate or House of Representatives for more than ten years, some for more than twenty. The 535 of Congress represent 311 million inhabitants, or just under 600,000 people each. That is a city with more inhabitants than Zurich. What is the difference between such a democracy and an aristocracy? I don't see any."

"You can vote all these people out after four years, can't you? That's the big difference."

"And who might they be replaced by? In the USA, there have been only two determining parties for a long time. They alone have it in their hands who is

allowed to sit in parliament for them and who gets the chance to become president."

"But the fact that in the end Obama became the Democratic presidential candidate, that clearly shows that the old establishment can be broken?"

"However, he owes his nomination solely to the fact that he came to an agreement with Hillary Clinton. But what concessions did he have to make to her and the party in return? If he is actually elected in a few weeks, maybe one day we will know."

Chufu filled his coffee cup for the second time. He also drank the mild Blue Mountain coffee without milk and sugar, just like Jules. But then the Filipino grabbed the cup of homemade yoghurt, scraped a few tablespoons into a bowl, took some of the strawberry jam and mixed everything thoroughly.

"But let's go back to the financial crisis. You think the United States government is to blame for the whole debacle, not the bank managers?"

"Oh, no, not them alone. It was quite simply a combination of different causes. For example, Basel II is very much to blame for the fact that so many banks had to be rescued."

"Basel II?"

"This refers to the currently applicable regulations for credit institutions and

financial service providers for the assessment of risks and their coverage by equity capital."

"I see. So what?"

"Well, Basel II prescribes quite little equity capital for the institutions. But what is worse is that the assessment of risks has been unilaterally subordinated to the assessments of the rating agencies. But the agencies always assume functioning markets. This is one of the reasons why all these subprime papers received top ratings, because they were issued by well-known and large institutions and they were traded in a liquid market. However, according to Basel II, the top grades meant hardly any risk for the banks and they could buy almost unlimited quantities. What experience teaches, however, is one thing. In turbulent times, there are no longer liquid and fairly valued markets. Then everything goes haywire. When the market for subprimes actually collapsed some time ago, the rating was immediately downgraded. This automatically led to high write-offs by the banks and thus to a strong reduction in equity. These were not actual losses, but merely reductions in value for ing purposes. As a result, the banks had to cut back on financing new real estate, which put additional pressure on prices and led to even higher write-offs on the old securities.

"A deadly downward spiral?"

"Yes, something like that. The big institutions will probably all be able to survive the crisis. The smaller and locally active banks, on the other hand, will jump over the cliff."

"But how can a government lead its own nation into such a disaster?"

" my question regarding the difference between aristocracy and democracy?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Well, if a nation is represented by only a few power holders and they can hardly be controlled, then the goals of these few do not necessarily have to coincide with the good of the nation or the entire population, do they?"

"You're talking about favouritism?"

"Let's say rather policy for certain groups of clients. In the last thirty years, the USA has managed to let the small percentage of rich people increase their wealth many times over, while the poorest are even worse off than before. At the same time, the state has become incredibly indebted. What we in the West always say about the positive development in the poorest countries of the world, namely that thanks to globalisation they experience higher gross national products and thus more prosperity, is probably just as untrue there as in the industrialised countries. A few actual benefit, but the majority pays for the accumulation of wealth in some form. And this is completely independent of the form of government."

"But what about countries like Brazil? Or China? Their populations benefit greatly from world trade, don't they? At least, that's what Monsieur Gilbert plausibly taught me in economics," the young Filipino added.

"In China, twenty to thirty percent of the population benefit. But hardly anything happens in the countryside because the income of the farmers hardly increases because prices are fixed by the state everywhere. A so-called hospital

somewhere in the Land of Smiles may have a single stethoscope and a few medicines. You won't find X-ray machines or even modern equipment. If you fall seriously ill in the countryside, you sometimes have to travel hundreds of kilometres to get medical care. And they have to be able to pay for all services in advance and in cash. That doesn't really seem social to me. Brazil, on the other hand, is benefiting from a commodity boom. Don't forget that it is a huge country with a lot of resources. And since commodity prices have risen sharply worldwide in the last decade, the gross national product of commodity suppliers like Brazil naturally increases as well. But the value-adding sectors of the economy there remain underdeveloped. Above all, there is a lack of vocational training. However, you cannot run an industry with engineers only, you need skilled workers above all. If commodity prices fall in the next few years, this country will also slide into an economic downturn with high unemployment."

"Hearing you talk like that. It makes you feel like everything is going down the drain and there are no ways out."

"Oh, quite the opposite, Chufu. I am a positive person and believe in a better future for humanity. But the world is complex and no one can really control it, neither states nor whole peoples. One can take directions that should lead to positive results, but human beings themselves change little if at all. It is part of our nature to be aggressive. The state and religions do little to tame it, which is why it breaks through again and again. Why do you think kids like you do stupid things like bungee jumping or white water rafting these days? Why do they engage in street racing with their horsepower cars, risking their own deaths and the deaths of other people? For the most part, they have a well-ordered life and a bright future. And yet this residue of wildness and audacity remains in us, gives vent to itself, makes people do extremely stupid things. Even ten thousand years of cultural history have hardly been able to significantly influence the nature of man."

"And what does that have to do with financial crisis or tax evasion? I think you've gone quite far off the subject."

"I disagree with you there. Man is a pack animal, not a herd animal or even a homogeneous animal people. One defends one's family, perhaps also one's immediate environment, but goes to war against other herds, i.e., peoples and countries, without hesitation. In addition, man is a hunter-gatherer, that is, he wants to measure his strengths and he builds up stocks when he can. All this together makes up our world as we experience it. The state and the churches may at times exert a strong influence on our behaviour. But most of the time we remain in our instincts. Because the taming of our primal instincts has not yet succeeded even in rudimentary form, despite the considerable development of culture, we will probably have to reckon with them and live with them in the future as well. Thus, financial, and economic crises are predestined for us. They are simply part of human existence and correspond to our nature."

"But that sounds quite pessimistic to my ears."

"No, not at all. After all, we have already survived tens of thousands of years despite our shortcomings. We just mistakenly believe that, thanks to advances in science and technology, we too are improving."

"Just don't digress again into the world of culture, religion and state and how they all interact," Chufu onished his adoptive father, "your favourite topic is hardly helpful when it comes to clarifying individual details, is it?"

"Ultimately, yes. But you have to know many facts to understand all the connections. But our actions are strongly determined by the three forces and their relationship to each other. The state tries to regulate church and culture, the religions, on the other hand, demand absolute power over everything earthly, and the mobile culture constantly gnaws at the two rigid forces, i.e., state and religion. You can find examples of their mutual influence everywhere on earth and at all times. What about Thomas Hirschhorn and his installation in Paris a

few years ago? The parliamentarians in Switzerland cut Pro Helvetia's next budget by one million francs as a punitive action for allegedly denigrating Swiss values. In doing so, the state and its politicians have made at least one thing clear. They want above all to be able to exert influence and control over culture with their grants. If it is attacked by it, they react quite nervously. In nondemocratic countries, culture in the form of newspapers, books or works of art is often simply banned by the state. China, for example, restricts its people's access to the internet. This is purely a defensive stance by a state that can only be reformed slowly against a culture that is changing all too quickly. If you look a little closer, you'll see a lot of patterns of this behaviour among your Reuters reports, too."

"But if what you say is true, namely that much comes about through the interaction or opposition of state, religion, and culture, then surely one should also be able to foresee the action in the future? Effect and counter-effect, I mean. Then surely clever minds should be able to influence it and thus save humanity from great harm?"

"I recommend that you read Stefan Zweig's book The World of Yesterday. In it he tells his life story.

"Stefan Zweig? Isn't that the German writer who committed suicide during the Second World War? I read the Chess Novel by him the other day, and Mary Stuart."

"He was Austrian and chose suicide together with his wife in Brazil in 1943. In the book you will find the answer to the question why the two of them decided to do this. But you will also find an explanation why a looming future does not lead to any change in people's actions, even if an elite has recognised the development long in advance and has actually known for a long time that it would have to intervene immediately to stop it. The fact is: there is no such thing as a known future. There is always conjecture. But in the interplay of state,

religion, and culture, you can usually explain after the events why something had to happen this way and not another way. And you also realise that there is luck and misfortune in history, things that can neither be foreseen nor influenced.

"What do you mean by lucky or unlucky?"

"Take Attila, for example, who overran half of Europe but was ultimately stopped by the Romans. Was that luck or bad luck? Probably luck because his empire disintegrated quickly after his death. A conquest would hardly have led to a more lasting peace but would have left behind an even greater mixture of peoples. Or the Turks in front of Vienna. What would Europe look like today if Vienna had fallen? Large parts of Europe would probably have been Islamised and many a religious war thus prevented. We could therefore also call the failure of the Turks before Vienna a misfortune for humanity."

"Well, I prefer to live in a Christian world where the individual can develop more freely and is not stifled by an all-powerful religion."

"But does secularisation actually make individuals better off? Don't forget that religions promise salvation and give people purpose and goals in life. Most people in the First World have largely forfeited their religiosity, but at the same time lament the lack of real meaning in their lives. The suicide rate in Christian and developed countries is far higher than in Muslim or even poor countries. Also, according to UN studies, the zest for life and affirmation of life is far higher in Bangladesh than in Switzerland."

"Man, you're really throwing me some heavy things here for breakfast, Jules. A little philosopher has been lost with you."

Jules smiled only slightly, looking a little lost, because at that moment he was again thinking strongly of his loss of Alabima and Alina.

"That's just the way our world is. Without a bit of philosophy, you'd have to despair of it."

Friday, 27 June 2008

Jules did not know how much time had ed when he suddenly heard footsteps in the corridor in front of the cell and then the door lock cracked. The wristwatches had been taken from them before they were locked up and the cell room had no window to the outside, so he could not even estimate whether it was already day or still night.

The Swiss had been startled by the first noise and had sat up, looking expectantly at the steel door that slowly swung open. Behind it, four armed men became visible. One of them waved his hand invitingly.

"Get up and come with me. Both of you," he said gruffly and in Russian.

Poor Aleksej was still sitting on his cot just as they had sat him down hours before. Jules stood up, grabbed Aleksej by the shoulders and pulled his friend to his feet, which he willingly let happen. The Russian's eyes were open, but again they looked through Jules. The Swiss had to swallow empty, for despite his own distress, Alexei's condition was frightening to behold. Together they left the cell, were surrounded by the four gunmen outside the door and they made their way back to the large laboratory room.

Before being locked up, they had been frisked by the guards and Jules had even had the laces pulled out of his shoes. That's why they were now shaking on his feet and he walked shuffling. But Aleksej, who probably couldn't feel anything anymore, lost them after a few steps and he walked on his stockings as if he hadn't noticed anything.

When they arrived in the big room, Jules winced painfully.

"Alabima, Chufu! How did they get you? Did they do anything to you?"

The head of the guard squad, this Grisha, stood next to his wife and son and answered for them.

"We work closely with the local police, so we had no problem calling the two dozen hotels and guesthouses in town and asking about strangers. A black and a yellow one stick out like sore thumbs here, and you even ed under your real names, you amateurs."

He grinned so contemptuously that Jules was tempted to pounce on him. The Swiss was already tensing his muscles when he received a vicious jab from behind with the barrel of a Kalashnikov. The muzzle hit him in the kidney area and the sharp pain not only jolted his pelvis but made him stumble a few steps forward and fall slapping to the ground. For a moment Jules lay paralysed and moaning. The leader of the guard took a few steps towards him and placed the sole of his boot on the Swiss's neck, pressing his face hard to the ground.

"You sissy little toad from the West. Do you think you can play the wild man here with us? Shall I show you how we Russians deal with duds like you?"

"Stop," Professor Gerriosch finally and sharply intervened, then continued in a conciliatory tone, "please let him get up again, Grisha. And you, Jules Ivanovich, stop this nonsense and keep quiet. Do we understand each other?"

This Grigori took his foot off the Swiss's neck and Jules braced himself on all fours, straightening up with difficulty and with his face still contorted in pain.

"And what are you going to do with us now, Dmitry Igarivich Gerriosch? Are you going to have all three of us killed? Three foreigners from the West? That will certainly make waves. Too high to remain undetected by the Russian authorities."

In view of the danger to his wife and boy, Jules was prepared to play his last trump card, the Russian oligarch Sokolow.

"You may not know that we are not just ordinary tourists. We know important personalities in high office here in Russia, people who have a lot of power and influence and will certainly not rest until our disappearance is completely cleared up. It will only be a matter of time before you are tracked down here and smoked out."

"Now, now" a pleasant-sounding, fatherly voice sounded from the hallway and through the open door. Jules' heart clenched as Vladimir Sokolow entered and looked around with a smile.

*

"Hello Julja, hello Labi ... Chufu? I can't say I'm pleased to see you here. You lied to me in St Petersburg. Why didn't you just accept the loss of your daughter,

Julja? Then we would have been spared all this."

"Volodya," Jules breathed, still upset, "are you behind this lab? And behind the kidnapping of Alina? Why?"

The Russian oligarch was still smiling, then ran his tongue over his upper lip as if he wanted to savour his answer.

"To be honest, Julja, your daughter fascinated me from the first moment. A hybrid between a male Europid and a black African whore. Up to now, we have only had Caucasian children available for our research work here in Moscow, some with an Asian or even a European touch. But when you arrived with the little one, I simply couldn't resist. The opportunity to get my hands on such a small and healthy mulatto had simply been too tempting."

Jules saw the horror in Alabima's face. Sokolow's coarse, even extremely ugly words had caused anger and rage to flare up in her. In the next moment she lunged at the Russian billionaire, her arms raised and her fingers curled into claws. She wanted at least to drag her nails through his smiling face with his filthy arrogance. But two guards rushed in from the left and right and held the Ethiopian by her upper arms, dragging her a few steps away from the oligarch. When Alabima resisted the grips, her arms were twisted roughly behind her back and she cried out in pain and helpless anger in equal measure. But then she spit in the direction of the billionaire who was still smiling with amusement:

"You filthy Russian pig. Give me back my daughter, you devil in human form."

Sokolow was still looking at her triumphantly and mockingly.

"A real little wildcat, it seems to me. I can understand you better now, Julja, that you have taken her into your bed. Such a wild one is certainly a lot of fun, isn't it?"

Some of the guards, who probably understood English, laughed, and bellowed loudly and the scientist with his two helpers also grinned insinuatingly.

Sokolow now stepped close to Alabima, gently ran the back of his index finger over her cheek, whereupon the Ethiopian first turned her head away in disgust, but immediately spat right in his face. The billionaire took a step back in surprise. His previous smile gave way to a venomous, even hateful expression. Leisurely, he pulled a white cloth handkerchief from his jacket and dabbed his saliva with it. Then he said in a tone of voice that showed poorly suppressed anger: "When we're done with you, you'll be eating out of my hand, you little African bitch. I'm going to fuck you thoroughly and a few times myself first. After that, I'll leave you to my men until you can't get your legs together anymore. We'll break your will thoroughly before we kill you, you beast."

"Volodya," Jules shouted to his former friend so that he would finally let go of Alabima, whose face had turned even darker with anger. You could see from the young mother's face that she was almost going crazy with hatred. She squirmed and bounced in the steel grip of the two guards behind her, wanting somehow to free her arms and be able to pounce on this fiend, wanting to destroy him, to kill him, this Satan in human form. Yet the Ethiopian fought silently and doggedly, gasping only because of the waves of pain that kept jolting through her body, triggered by the forearms pressed firmly upwards on her back.

"Volodya. What do you actually want to achieve with this laboratory and your strange research? You already have more than enough money. You can hardly be interested in selling the results to unscrupulous states or even terrorists?

For a moment, it seemed as if his words did not penetrate the oligarch's consciousness, because he was still looking at Alabima with malicious glinting eyes. But then he slowly turned to Jules.

"I would have expected you of all people to figure it out on your own and that I wouldn't have to explain my motives to you first. Think about it thoroughly for once. What do you think?"

Jules was glad that Sokolow had found his way back to a factual level of conversation. This was the only way he could get Alabima to calm down. He answered Vladimir's question as unemotionally as possible.

"I think the decline of the Soviet Union over the last two decades is of great concern to you. This morning, no, I think it was yesterday, at breakfast you were talking quite spitefully about the breakaway former constituent states. Do you want to change that? Do you want to turn back the wheel of history and reconquer territories long lost from the Russians, for example Georgia or Ukraine? Do you want to restore the balance of power from the past?"

"Yes, that's what I'm about too. But not only."

It seemed as if Jules could engage the Russian billionaire in conversation. In any case, the guards stood around waiting and quite relaxed, and Chufu had also remained very calm the whole time. His hands had been handcuffed behind his back anyway and one of the guards had also stood behind him and put his right hand on the boy's shoulder as a constant reminder not to do anything stupid. Perhaps Chufu had put up such a fierce fight when he was captured that, unlike Alabima, they had tied him up and kept him under constant control? One of the

Filipino's eyes showed blueness and his jaw also seemed a little swollen.

Professor Gerriosch and his two assistants stood at some distance from them, from Sokolow and most of the guards. They seemed to be uninvolved spectators at the moment, waiting for questions or orders from their employer. Aleksej, on the other hand, continued to pause apathetically two steps behind Jules. He had shown no movement even during Alabima's outburst and the brief scuffle that followed.

"You have a biological weapon developed in the form of the bird flu viruses. They could be used to take all of Europe and half of Africa hostage, so to speak. Do you want to use them to threaten Western Europe so that Nato does not hinder you Russians in a new expansion of the borders and does not side with the attacked states? Are the viruses about keeping Russia's back free in warlike conflicts with neighbouring states?"

"I knew you had a clever head, Julja. You're quite right. That is exactly my point. Those who oppose us Russians in the future will be contaminated with a deadly virus against which they can hardly defend themselves. Governments around the world will have to choose. Either they leave the former Soviet states without when we re-incorporate them into our empire, or they risk a deadly epidemic among their populations. We can use this weapon selectively and also locally, thus triggering a slowly spreading contamination. Or we can spread it over a wide area with the help of migratory birds. The governments in the West will hardly dare to take a stand against the new Russia and thus endanger their own population."

"The new Russia?" asked Jules back sharply.

"Yes, a new Russia within the borders of the former Soviet Union and beyond.

With the help of the new weapons, we will pacify even the recalcitrant Afghans and finally incorporate them. For those who are dead can no longer defend themselves. You know, Julja, how urgently we Russians need access to ice-free ports. What Peter the Great started almost three hundred years ago, I will achieve for my people and my country in the next few years. Do you finally see the magnificence of my plans? Not only will I help Russia to flourish as never before, but in the process, I will put the USA and the Chinese in their place."

The billionaire's eyes lit up fanatically.

"But then what is the point of the ghastly experiments with the artificially created savants?"

The oligarch looked at Jules deliberately, as if he did not want to give his former friend any information about it. Then, however, his urge to assert himself prevailed.

"The human brain is increasingly reaching its limits in mathematics. But mathematics is the key to our future and the basis of all important scientific progress. Whether in physics or biology, hardly anything can be done without mathematics. Since the decoding of the human genome, all branches of research are increasingly concerned with models and their calculation. If we succeed in creating mathematical geniuses with the help of our experiments, Russia will soon become the leading research nation in the world, no matter in which field. In this way, we will finally be able to outdo even the hated USA in of technology. So far, the results leave much to be desired. But that will come, I am convinced, and Professor Gerriosch is also confident. The pain-resistant soldiers are just a nice by-product of our research, a useful little add-on for a Russia that will be stronger in the future."

There was no longer any doubt for Jules. Vladimir Sokolow was out of his mind. Neither could sovereign, democratic states be so easily intimidated by a threatened spread of viruses, nor could any truly meaningful and purposeful research work be done with the mathematics cripples bred by Gerriosch. Jules, however, recognised in Sokolow's eyes the fanatical, crazed expression of a zealot, and when he turned to Professor Gerriosch, the latter had the same dangerously rapt look.

"And you really believe that the elected Russian government would engage in such fantasies?"

Sokolow returned from his thoughts.

"If Putin and Medvedev oppose us, we will put them down. Or do you think I stand alone? How could I have recruited and used all the FSB agents and SpezNas people for my purposes without the of generals and high officials? Our association is already a power factor in Russia and we will know how to play to our strength at the right time. But enough of that."

The oligarch wanted to end the conversation.

"I'd best have you three shot and your bodies disappeared. That should finally close this unpleasant chapter and we can all return to our duties."

He turned smugly to the three lab coats as he did so.

"And Ira, your wife? Does she actually know what you're doing here?"

Jules' question was almost tangible in the room. Gerriosch and his two assistants, as well as the guards, were waiting lurkingly for the oligarch to answer. At first it looked as if Sokolow would not answer him. The billionaire ran his hand over his beard, kneaded his chin and seemed to be thinking.

"Ira, of course, knows nothing of all this. She is a woman and thus incapable of thinking in really big contexts. Like all women, she lacks imagination, true insight and, above all, the drive and ruthlessness to go to extremes."

With that, he had probably explained everything necessary from his point of view, because he now turned to the leader of the guard staff.

"Grisha, have our guests taken to the cellar and executed. Their bodies are probably best buried somewhere on the premises."

Grigori was already about to distribute the appropriate orders to his men, had already opened his mouth, but Jules' voice held him back.

"One last question, Volodya. You gave us two of your own bodyguards when we arrived in Moscow. And then you had one of them killed as well. Why did you do that? Just for your cover?"

Sokolow looked at him in surprise for a moment.

"You still want to know that? Just before you and your whole family are going to die, are you interested in something so insignificant? I don't think I'll ever understand you, Julja. But well, you may as well know this too. All my bodyguards have been tested for body and soul in the last few months. Most of them are unscrupulous enough to walk over dead bodies without a second thought. Only in the case of the twins did we have to realise that although they are extremely tough, skilful, and also intelligent, they lack the lack of conscience necessary for our purposes. They are not capable of killing completely innocent people and bystanders without a reason. Therefore, I thought it would be extremely practical to kill two birds with one stone. I provided myself with a perfect alibi for you, and at the same time I was able to elegantly eliminate my two problem cases. I could not very well have them killed by their own SpezNas comrades. That would have put their loyalty to me to an unnecessary test. The opportunity with your mongrel child came just in time. Unfortunately, however, Alexei here was obviously too cowardly to get himself shot...", Jules recognised out of the corner of his eye how a twitch went through Alexei's body at the mention of his name by Sokolow. His face, however, remained blank and expressionless, "... and only his brother Alexandr was man enough to face death. Aleksej will follow his brother Alexandr shortly, as soon as Professor Gerriosch no longer needs him."

At the mention of his brother's name, Alexei tensed noticeably. And suddenly he sprang forward from a standing position and threw himself at the Russian billionaire. The guards had neither tied up nor restrained the man who had so far stood so imively. His attack on the oligarch came too unexpectedly and without any discernible approach and was therefore successful.

With his bare hands he went for Sokolow's throat. Like claws, his fingers wrapped around the billionaire's neck and squeezed relentlessly. Sokolow had still tried to back away but had stumbled and fallen down as a result of the collision with Alexei. His former bodyguard was lying on top of him and his hands had closed steely around his throat, crushing the Russian billionaire's Adam's apple with his thumbs. Vladimir Sokolow's pupils bulged out of their

sockets and the oligarch frantically rowed his arms in the air while his head swelled dark red. Then Alexei jerked his right hand from the billionaire's neck and thrust his outstretched thumb deep into his left eye socket. Sokolow's body reared up wildly and a hideous snarling sound escaped from his completely crushed throat. Blood spurted from the injured eye socket, while Alexei's middle finger spasmed into Sokolow's ear hole for extra grip. Deeper and deeper his thumb penetrated the skull of the billionaire, whose body jerked as if under electric shocks and writhed on the ground. Finally, his neck also escaped the clinging grip of Alexei's left hand. But instead of a scream, only a gasp came from his throat.

Two guards who had rushed over had long since been tugging violently at Alexei's arms, trying to pull him off Sokolow, but to no avail. A third had grabbed the former bodyguard's head, yanked him backwards by the hair, but the former SpezNas soldier did not let go of his victim. Their leader Grigori now grabbed Alexei's left wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. They all heard Aleksej's shoulder t pop out with an ugly crack. But even that was not enough to drag him off the billionaire or to dislodge his clawed right hand from Sokolow's head. Finally, one of the guards slammed the butt of his Kalashnikov violently down on Alexei's head. It cracked and cracked ugly as the skull fractured. The former bodyguard must have died instantly, sinking to the ground next to the Russian oligarch's body. His thumb, however, was still hooked in Sokolow's eye hole and the guards had to break his fingers one by one to finally free his hand from the billionaire.

Two of the guards dragged the dead man aside while Professor Gerriosch rushed over to examine the injured oligarch. The billionaire's body lay cramped on the ground but had begun to tremble and shudder. His arms twitched helplessly in the air. His legs suddenly began to scratch. Sokolow resembled a marionette whose strings were being jerked so that its limbs made grotesque movements.

Gerriosch had one of his staff hand him a scalpel and made a tracheotomy on the Russian billionaire, began heart massage. The billionaire's convulsions became

weaker and weaker and his body seemed to collapse. Aleksej's thumb had probably penetrated the oligarch's brain and crushed important areas there.

The half-dozen guards stood around, staring down at their dying employer, while Gerriosch's face expressed shock and indecision in equal measure. Jules took advantage of these seconds of inattention, lunged at one of the inattentive guards, snatched the weapon from him and, whirling around, pulled the barrel across his skull, causing him to collapse unconscious. Then he grabbed the distraught Gerriosch by the shoulder and pulled him up to him, at the same moment thrusting the muzzle of the gun under his chin and shouting in Russian: "Don't move, or he's dead".

Two or three guards were long since whirled around and pointed their weapons at the Swiss. The professor gave Jules only a poor cover, for he was barely one sixty-five. But the men seemed to trust Jules to pull the trigger at the moment of his own death. That is why they stood still and waited for the orders of their leader.

Gerriosch, on the other hand, overcame his initial surprise and briefly flared up fear surprisingly quickly. His will to live came back vehemently after an initial, brief freeze. Despite the muzzle under his chin, he shouted loudly and commandingly: "Have you gone mad? He'll kill me if you shoot him. Lower your weapons."

The guards still did not react, continued to stare imperatively over the barrels of their rifles at Jules and the professor, waiting for Grigori's decision.

"What do you ask?"

The leader of the guard had long since gotten over his surprise and assessed the changed situation and then had asked the only correct question.

"Free departure for me and my family. But first and foremost, you must bring our daughter Alina here."

Grigori thought for a moment about possible alternatives and then decided on the offered gain of time.

"All right. You get your little one back. Borja, you go to building three in the infant section and get the mongrel. But make sure nothing happens to the girl on the way and that she gets here safely."

Jules relaxed only slightly when one of the men wordlessly placed his rifle against a wall and left the room. Three other guards still had him and Gerriosch in their sights. In addition, Alabima and Chufu continued to stand in the middle of the armed group, could be used by them as cover or taken hostage at any time.

"Now let go of my wife and my son so that they can come to me."

Grigori nodded wordlessly and Alabima and Chufu strode between the guards and lined up next to Jules and the professor. The dismay of all they had experienced, from their capture to the appearance of Sokolow, their threatened murder and the oligarch's ghastly death throes, was written on their faces.

"Who has the key to my boy's handcuffs?"

One of the guards went over to Chufu and removed the shackles. While Chufu rubbed his wrists, the Russian went back to the group around Grigori and ed them.

"Please stay behind me and the professor, Alabima and Chufu at all times so that I have a clear field of vision and can watch everyone at all times."

The two obeyed wordlessly.

Grigori tried to engage Jules in conversation.

"Do you really think you have a chance of leaving our country alive? If you kill the professor, you and your family will also be dead a split second later. And if we should actually let you go, we will rush you without mercy. It's a long way to the nearest international airport. You will certainly not be able to reach it. I'll make you another fair offer instead. Give up and we will let your wife go with the boy and with your daughter. I promise that no harm will come to them and they will be allowed to leave Russia unmolested. You, on the other hand, Jules Ivanovich, will stay behind as a hostage and pawn, so that the two of them don't do anything stupid later and give something away."

"You should not think me so naïve, Grigori. Of course, I also know how small our chances are. But if I give up now, they will fall to zero in any case. Spare yourself and us any lies. Let them shoot me, then at least the professor here will die together with us and won't be able to continue his terrible research work. But Gerriosch is certainly too important for the entire organisation. Therefore, also think of the generals and the politicians whom Sokolow has united behind him. They would certainly not be happy if the professor had to die. Maybe that's why

you should let us go. It's the only way to get him back alive. Make up your mind, Grigory."

Gerriosch's head twitched as if he wanted to say something. But Jules pushed the muzzle of the Kalashnikov up even harder and the professor fell perforce silent, barely able to move his jaw, panting heavily snuffle in and out through his nose.

Grigori looked at Jules expressionlessly. He seemed to be weighing up which course of action was most likely to succeed. They all remained silent and lurking, waiting for this Boris to return. After two minutes they heard his bootsteps in the corridor, and shortly afterwards the guard returned with Alina in his arms. He held her extremely carefully so as not to wake the sleeping little girl. You could tell that the man had certain inhibitions, at least towards such small children, so he couldn't be a completely jaded and conscienceless murderer.

Before Jules could stop her, Alabima already rushed forward and grabbed her daughter, tore her out of the guard's hands, pressed her to her chest. Boris let this happen without resistance but held the woman back by the upper arm and looked questioningly at Grigori. He only slightly pointed his head in Jules' direction and Alabima was released and could return to Chufu. She had eyes only for Alina. Her daughter continued to sleep peacefully, looking healthy and well, at least at first glance.

"So where do we go from here?" asked Grigori lurkingly.

"We need a car, a Range Rover or something similar. It needs to be fueled up. Have it brought to the front of the building. And I want a handgun too."

"And after that?"

"We will get in together with Professor Gerriosch and you will let us escape through the main gate. We will travel together with the professor all the way to Moscow and directly to one of the international airports. There we will board the next plane to Western Europe. We will leave the professor outside the airport building."

Grigori need only think for a moment. He knew that the long drive to Moscow would give him enough time to confer with the other key backers of the organisation and take their orders. With a helicopter, he could catch up with the fugitives' car at any time.

"Agreed. Oleg, go outside and get the black Niva. Make sure its tank is full. Drive it right up to the front door and then bring me the ignition key."

Oleg wordlessly handed Boris his weapon. He took it but did not even point it at Jules or the others but lowered its muzzle to the ground. It seemed as if the guards had given up for the moment, because two others now also lowered their rifle barrels and relaxed. Jules was about to instruct Chufu and Alabima on how they had to leave the building together, namely as a tightly packed group with the professor in their midst. He had already opened his mouth, but he didn't get the chance. For at that moment the windowpanes of the research laboratory burst all around, gun barrels stabbed in and a group of men dressed all in black with rapid-fire weapons stormed into the room from the corridor. A voice shouted in Russian, "FSB, surrender."

Some of the guards whirled around and were about to charge at the intruders. They collapsed under the hail of bullets from the attackers. Only one of them was still able to raise the barrel of his gun towards Jules and pull the trigger. The

bullet pierced the Swiss's left shoulder, jerking him around. Jules, on the other hand, had not pulled the trigger of his rifle, but dropped it. The Swiss never intended to shoot the defenceless professor. After all, what good was another dead man if his family was wiped out at the same time? Jules, however, continued to hold the professor with his right arm and now pushed him to the ground, kneeling on his chest.

In the three seconds between the intruders' warning cry and Gerriosch lying on the floor, the lab's guards had been taken out. Two squatted on the floor, palpating puncture marks on their legs, the bodies of Grigori and four other men lay sprawled and motionless. The two employees in the white lab coats stood a little apart with their arms raised, showing shocked, completely frightened faces.

Alabima and Chufu had instinctively thrown themselves to the ground almost simultaneously with the shattering of the windowpanes, Alabima trying to protect little Alina with her upper body. They were now being dragged up by the victorious FSB men. Both seemed confused and frightened, at the same time on the extremely tense and almost panicked. For apart from the violence, they had not yet understood what had happened. Jules therefore quickly called out to them: "These are all men from Russian domestic intelligence. We are safe. Don't resist and do what they want you to do."

At the same time, he had raised his healthy right arm as a sign that he too had surrendered. Blood trickled from his left shoulder wound, staining his shirt dark red. The bullet must have lodged in the shoulder blade or another bone.

The leader of the troop, a captain as his badge indicated, stepped towards the Swiss and Jules slowly lowered his raised arm, instead stretching it out to the man in greeting. He immediately took his hand and squeezed it tightly, saying at the same time, "Captain Viktor Vasil'ivich Kozloff. Nice to see you alive, Jules Ivanovich Lederer."

"You know me, Viktor Vasil'ivich? How do you know me?"

The Russian smiled at him.

"We know all the visitors of important personalities here in Russia," he evaded a direct answer, "You have been injured, I see. We have a paramedic with us who will take care of you right away. Afterwards we will fly you and your family to a military hospital in Moscow."

Jules, Alabima and Chufu were quite apathetic about the rest. While Jules' shoulder was being bandaged, he learned from the captain that the government had been watching Vladimir Sokolow's activities with suspicion for some time. Since their arrival at Moscow airport, the Lederer family had been monitored without interruption, with the help of FSB agents, drones, and satellites. With the kidnapping of little Alina, suspicions against Sokolow had been heightened, especially after Alexei and Jules tracked down and killed the rogue agents in Moscow and then sought out Gerriosch in St Petersburg. When the Lederers then went to Petrozavodsk and took an interest in the research site that Sokolow had acquired from the Russian army a few years ago, and then the billionaire also arrived here by helicopter a short time later, the decision had been made at headquarters in Moscow to strike.

During the flight back to the capital, Alabima hid her little daughter in her arms, spoke softly to her and let her feel that everything was now going to be all right again. She did not exchange a single word with Jules, did not even look at him.

2008, Summer

Two days had ed. Alabima and Chufu had sat down with Alina at Jules' bedside. The three of them were staying in the suite at the Hotel Meridien again, but they visited Jules for several hours every day. The bullet had hit his shoulder below the collarbone, but above the top of his lung. A hand's breadth lower and it would probably have been over with the Swiss, as the surgeon confirmed to him after the removal of the bullet and his waking up.

Jules could still see the strain of the last few days in the faces of Alabima and Chufu. They looked drained, powerless, also sitting almost apathetically on the chairs in front of him and looking at him from red-rimmed, overtired eyes. After what they had experienced, they could only find their way into a drug-like sleep with the help of medication, which hardly refreshed them and from which they were repeatedly startled with nightmares during the night.

"The doctor says the earliest I can be discharged is the day after tomorrow, which is Tuesday."

Jules tried to cheer up his wife and son a little.

"Chufu, can you please book the return flight for us for Wednesday?"

"I will, if they speak English or French there as well as Russian."

Jules waved it off.

"It's already working."

At that moment, the door to the sickroom was pushed open and two tall and extremely athletic young men in dark grey, fashionably cut suits, with crew cuts and impenetrable dark sunglasses entered. They briefly let their gaze wander around the room. Then one of them said "secured" in Russian.

Only now did Jules recognise the thin bracket of a microphone that reached from the shell of her left ear to in front of her mouth.

A moment later, they heard footsteps in the corridor. They sounded like energy and came quickly closer. The three flinched as Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin entered through the door, also looked around briefly, but then after three more steps stopped directly in front of Alabima, seized her right hand and gallantly brought it up to his lips.

"Enchantée, Madame Lederer," he greeted her in accent-free French, "I hope the unpleasant experiences during your holiday trip didn't give you a completely false picture of our beautiful Russia?"

Without waiting for an answer, he approached Chufu, who had risen from his chair and was standing there somewhat perplexed. The Russian leader, who was only of medium height, held out his hand to the Filipino, who was half a head taller, and said with a smile: "And I suppose you are Chufu? May I call you Chufu? Yes? Then you may also call me Pat. But only for today," and when he noticed the boy's confused look, he added: "Pat, from Pat and Patachon, I mean."

Chufu's face turned sallow when he realised that the Russian secret service had recorded their teatime at the Sokolows' and that Putin had later listened to the tape. He mumbled an apology in French.

"Could I please speak to Monsieur Lederer alone for a moment?", Putin then turned to his wife and son, "it would be kind if they could wait outside in the hall for a moment. Thank you very much, Madame Lederer, Chufu. I am very much obliged to you."

Alabima carried Alina out in her arms and into the hallway, Chufu followed them wordlessly and still flabbergasted, accompanied by the two bodyguards, the latter quietly pulling the door into the lock behind him.

Putin switched to Russian and extended his hand to Jules.

"We have not yet had the pleasure, Jules Ivanovich Lederer, but I have heard only good things about them from Boris Nikolaevich Yeltsin. You were quite useful to the Russian state in the turmoil of the August coup. That is why you still have a lot of friends here in Russia. I would like to be one of them."

The head of state's request sounded like an order.

"My lowly at the time is hardly worth mentioning," Jules modestly rebuffed, "it was kind of Borja to even mention me to you."

Putin looked at him with a somewhat surprised, but at the same time piercingly calculating gaze. The fact that the Swiss talked down his services to Russia, i.e., that he did not expect any advantage from him, the current ruler, irritated the head of government. His narrow face at that moment was reminiscent of a desert jackal, which on the one hand was cunningly anxious for every advantage, but at the same time tried to assess every imponderable so as not to step into a cleverly laid trap.

"You talked with Gerriosch and later with Sokolow for quite some time, as the professor confirmed to us," the Russian Prime Minister spoke seriously, "You learned quite a bit about the research work financed by Vladimir Mikhailovich Sokolow."

That was not a question, but a statement. Nevertheless, Jules nodded in confirmation and wondered anxiously what the Russian ruler was getting at.

"That you and your family were able to escape alive is thanks to the intervention of my security forces, Jules Ivanovich Lederer. Are we agreed on this point?"

Jules nodded in agreement, "Very likely."

"Can I therefore expect that you will not make use of what you have learned?"

Jules looked into the piercing eyes of Putin. He realised how much he and his family were at the mercy of the Russian prime minister in this military hospital. If the head of government wanted, he could make them disappear without a trace at any time.

"I would never do anything to harm the Russian people," Jules replied diplomatically evasively, to which Putin twisted the corners of his mouth into an almost friendly but also somewhat mocking smile.

"That wasn't my question."

"I know, President Putin."

Jules deliberately addressed him by his former title, which was not only meant as a mark of honour, but above all clearly expressed Jules' actual opinion about the balance of power in Russia. Since Putin was well aware of their conversation during teatime at the Sokolows', Jules hoped that by addressing the head of government in this false way he would be able to soften his statement at the time about Medvedev's strength and power, to Putin's liking.

"Even if people in the West believe that I am vain and quite susceptible to such flattery, Jules Ivanovich Lederer, I can assure you that this is not the case," he immediately dashed his hopes.

"However, I have no interest in making you and your family disappear. Your death would certainly raise little dust, for as Borja has told me, you always work in secrecy and secret, possessing few influential friends in the West. Nevertheless, such a measure could play into the hands of my opponents here in Russia and encourage them to conduct overt or covert investigations. Moreover, I appreciate your past services to my country. Not least for the sake of old times, I will therefore let you and your family go unmolested. But you must understand one thing: We will continue the research in Sokolow's laboratory in any case, for the benefit and the good of the Russian people. As I have been assured,

Professor Gerriosch is on the verge of making further important breakthroughs in the various fields. The Russian state cannot and will not do without these valuable scientific findings and technological advances."

"You sacrifice innocent people in this place and in the name of so-called science," Jules interjected.

Putin looked at him appraisingly, seeming to think less about the objection than about the Swiss's reasons. Why should a man like this Jules Lederer have any scruples towards people completely unknown to him? Why did the Swiss make ethical considerations when it was a matter of raison d'état? Was this genuine or was the guy just trying to draw him out?

"I agree with you. The Russian people will certainly have to make a few more sacrifices for this new technology. But the good of the many comes before the good of the individual."

"That may certainly be true for the many, but hardly for the individual human being who hangs on to his life and freedom and is cheated of both by unscrupulous scientists."

"A discussion with you about raison d'état and ethics would certainly be quite amusing, Jules Ivanovich Lederer, but completely useless since this subject has long since been decided. But before I let you and your family leave, I want your word that you will keep your knowledge of the research to yourself."

"I'll have to think about that carefully first, President Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin. I think it over calmly at home in Switzerland."

For a moment, the most powerful man in Russia hesitated and looked at Jules with his piercing grey eyes, seemingly weighing up whether he should treat the Lederers as enemies of the state or let them go as originally intended. Then the prime minister had made up his mind, as Jules could see from the twitching of the corners of his mouth even before he began to speak.

"Then do that. And think really hard. I hardly have to explain to you how long the Russian arm can be and that we never forget unfriendliness towards us."

After this blatant threat, Putin said goodbye with a brief handshake, took three or four long steps to the door, opened it, and had already disappeared from Jules' field of vision.

*

Of course, Alabima and Chufu wanted to know what Putin had to discuss with Jules. But at least at that time, Jules did not want to talk about it.

"I first have to think hard about what exactly he had intended and how I should behave."

Alabima looked at her husband suspiciously.

"Did he threaten you?"

Jules had to smile. Once again, his wife's feminine instinct hit the mark.

"No, not directly threatened. According to the understanding of a Putin, it was probably more of a heartfelt request."

"You mean the Prime Minister of Russia is asking Jules Lederer for something? That would make a big headline in the press," Chufu himself interjected suspiciously, "did Putin want to know what you found out in the lab?

"No, he has long known all the facts and what is being researched in this laboratory. Professor Gerriosch has changed sides and now works enthusiastically for the Russian state."

"Does this mean that Gerriosch can continue to kidnap babies and carry out experiments on them? And in the future, he can do this under the protection and with the help of the state? Oh, Jules, that's terrible. Where is this leading?"

There was genuine concern in Alabima's voice.

"No one can say for. At least not at the moment. But Russia wants to open a new chapter in warfare that the other great powers will have to follow."

"And Putin demands that you don't leak any of this to the public, that you don't reveal their plans to anyone."

Chufu had not asked a question but had called a spade a spade.

"Yes, I guess it's something like that."

"And what exactly are you not supposed to make public? What Sokolow told us made little sense to me and Alabima. He did talk about soldiers being impervious to pain, didn't he? And something about geniuses in mathematics? And he also talked about viruses. What kind of viruses did he mean?"

Chufu's voice betrayed his greed for more details and the connections. He wanted to know all the secrets that had almost killed them. But he didn't know his mother very well.

"We don't really want to know that Chufu. And you, Jules, won't tell us about it or it on to anyone else either. Or have you already forgotten what happened to that poor man in London, that former Russian secret agent? He was poisoned with plutonium by the Russian secret service, wasn't he?"

Jules sighed somewhat agonized.

"It was polonium, Alabima, not plutonium. And whether the FSB was involved could not be proven."

His wife looked at her husband with a bitter tug around her mouth.

"Wake up, Jules, and open your eyes properly. Certain things don't have to be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt to be recognised for what they are. Please promise me here and now that you will not talk to anyone about this Gerriosch's research."

"Eye Star, I'll give you the same answer I just gave to Vladimir Putin. I have to think about it first.

*

It was a fortnight later. The Lederers had long since returned to their house on Lake Geneva. In the meantime, Alabima and Chufu had come to with the terrible events in Russia. They slept through the nights again without medication. This was certainly helped by the fact that they no longer mentioned the experiences to each other, fading them out in their conversations. And yet a still lingering, somehow lurking mood was in the air, had taken possession of their home. So much unsaid seemed to be building up between them, a huge mountain of feelings, recriminations and also regrets. Under the cover of the mundane, they continued to simmer, poisoning what used to be such a harmonious family life.

They had taken little Alina to a private clinic in Geneva two days ago for observation. Alabima and Jules wanted the doctors to find out whether their daughter had already been subjected to any experiments in Russia, experiments that might have left permanent damage if they were not discovered and treated

early. Fortunately, the doctors could not find anything unusual about the little girl, neither in her organs nor in her behaviour. She seemed to have been merely observed by the Russian scientists.

Alabima and Jules had spent most of the time with their daughter in the clinic. The little one was supposed to have a familiar person around her in this strange environment. But this morning, they were finally able to bring their little princess home again.

"Will you come with us when we pick up Alina in Geneva?"

Jules looked questioningly at Chufu, who was lounging in one of the armchairs in the living room, reading a comic book and now looked up in amazement.

"Me? Go with you? No, go ahead and do it alone, you and Alabima. I don't feel like crawling to Geneva and back in rush-hour traffic."

"Well then, see you. We should be back by noon," Jules said lightly, and Alabima called out from the hallway, "Bye, Chufu, see you later.

On their drive to the Geneva clinic, the two talked about expanding their property. A bigger boathouse was needed and the guest rooms could also do with a coat of paint. They also wanted to commission the landscaping company to build a large sandbox for Alina in one of the corners of the property. However, an attentive observer would have looked in vain for the former familiarity and the perceived intimate closeness of the two spouses in their conversation. Alabima answered Jules' questions rather curtly, seeming to be elsewhere in her thoughts. Jules therefore steered the conversation to the real issue that had been

weighing on his mind for so many days.

"Alina has survived everything without any damage to her health. Dr Robespierre confirmed this again this morning on the phone. Our little girl is feeling great and only misses her mother. Everything turned out well for us."

Alabima remained stubbornly silent, staring through the windscreen at the rear of the car in front of them, which, like them, was heading for Geneva on the motorway. It was a white VW Polo with Zurich licence plates and a single man was sitting in it. Jules had already felt more and more strongly over the last few days that the experiences in Russia had triggered a deep thoughtfulness in his wife. It seemed as if she was fighting an inner battle with herself but did not want to receive any from him or anyone else.

She replied to his last remark.

"I thank God that Alina is well, Jules. And I also know, of course, that in fairness I cannot hold you responsible for everything that happened to us in Russia. But the dangers we were all in were brought about by you and your life so far. I hope we can agree on that, can't we?"

"Yes, I it that. But in this particular case it could have happened to any other acquaintance of the Sokolows. You really can't and shouldn't expect something like that, and that's why I couldn't avoid or prevent it. What happened to us was quite simply enormous bad luck, an evil and exceedingly stupid coincidence. But with a happy outcome."

Alabima was silent for a moment, seeming to consider her answer very carefully

and put it to rights.

"No, you can't and shouldn't count on it if you don't want to go crazy with fear. But you can be more careful and avoid unnecessary risks. Since we returned from Russia, I've been watching you, Jules. And what I can see more and more clearly in your eyes, I don't like. You said you had to think about whether or not to keep your knowledge of this Gerriosch's research to yourself. And now I sense more and more clearly that you no longer want to heed Putin's warning. That increasingly frightens me."

For quite a while, Jules could not answer. Mechanically, he kept his distance from the Polo in front of them, even as it slowed down and pulled in behind a truck. Did Alabima know more about him and his thought processes than he did? Because until that moment, the Swiss still believed his decision was completely open. But Alabima had now held up a mirror to him and when he honestly asked himself for the answer, he felt it just as clearly inside him. Yes, he could no longer keep his knowledge to himself, had to warn the world of the new dangers from Russia. Before answering his wife, he briefly turned his face to Alabima. The Ethiopian was still staring straight ahead, not looking at him. But her eyes were moist and a first tear had just come loose, tracing its trail down her gently curved cheek to her chin. At his second, quick sideways glance, Jules saw a second one follow, the first and drip down onto her blouse.

The Swiss sat broodingly silent behind the wheel of the car, unable to utter a word, just staring through the windscreen and at the rear of the white Polo. The lump in his throat grew and grew and grew.

*

"But all I want is an appointment for a short meeting with the Minister of Justice. Twenty minutes is quite enough. Believe me. I have important information. It concerns the tax scandal in the USA."

"I'm sorry, Mr Lederer. We already informed the Federal Councillor about her request yesterday. She expressly does not wish to talk to you."

"But I have already spoken to her predecessor on the same matter and I am convinced it is extremely important that I share the knowledge I have added to in the meantime with the Federal Councillor."

"That may be your view of things, Mr Lederer. Rest assured, however, that we already have all the necessary knowledge and you certainly cannot tell us anything new. A parley is neither necessary nor desirable. Thank you for your call and have a nice day."

On the other side, there was a hang-up.

Jules was horrified. Why did the new Minister of Justice not want to meet him under any circumstances? Why did she refrain from providing additional information on an ongoing case that was so dangerous for the Swiss economy? Did she fear that his information could oblige the Federal Council to act in a certain way? To act against the interests of the USA. Did she perhaps even want to work closely with the Americans? Was it not even thinking of defending Switzerland's previous positions, but only looking for the easiest way to sacrifice bank client confidentiality even past all laws?

But what role did developments in the USA still play when a much greater

danger was building up here in Europe through a new Russia?

*

The man had rung the front doorbell, exactly at the pre-arranged time. He was probably thirty-five years old, had a noticeable belly line and a growing bald head. Both gave him a homely, affable appearance. His somewhat feisty face matched the sweat stains under his armpits. But it was also particularly hot that morning and already quite humid at the otherwise beautiful Lake Geneva.

"Mr. Lederer?"

Jules nodded without saying anything in return and shook his hand briefly. Then he preceded the man down the hall and straight into his office.

"Who was that at the door?" called Alabima's voice from the kitchen behind them.

"No one, darling, just an acquaintance. We're in my office."

Jules carefully closed the door behind them and then asked his guest to sit down.

"You're supposed to have information for me, Mr. Lederer?"

The man got straight to the point, which pleased Jules.

"Can you please identify yourself first?" he asked back.

The man pulled a flat leather case from the inside pocket of his linen jacket, flipped it open and handed it over to him.

"Martin Felden," Jules read out loud and looked at the ID more closely. SIS was written on it, Secret Intelligence Service, also called MI6. The ID seemed genuine and the photo matched the face of the man in front of him.

"Please forgive my caution. But you will understand in a moment that it is quite justified."

In the hour that followed, Jules enlightened the MI6 agent about their experiences in Russia, ed on to him all the information he had learned from Sokolow and Gerriosch, also described the effects on Alexei after the radiation treatment and how no one could help the Russian billionaire, but also outlined to the man the possible military and political developments from his perspective.

Jules was of the firm opinion that Putin, with the help of the new weapons, would first target those former member states that had particularly aligned themselves with the West. These included above all Georgia and Azerbaijan, but Ukraine also seemed to be at risk. In addition, the missile defence shield in Eastern Europe was still on the US agenda. The Russian ruler would also want to prevent this by all means.

Felden listened attentively, asked intelligent questions from time to time, but did not make a single note, nor did he leave a tape running. Jules ed both with pleasure, showing the professionalism of this man who seemed so average and not very capable. At the end of their meeting came the almost obligatory question from the MI6 agent.

"And why did you turn to us of all people?"

"The SIS has the best connections to Nato and the USA," Jules itted bluntly, "and only together can this new threat to Europe and the world perhaps still be stopped."

The man said nothing in reply, merely nodded a quick goodbye and stood up. As they stepped into the hallway together, Alabima stood under the open door to the kitchen and looked at them questioningly. Felden nodded wordlessly at her too, turned to the front door and was gone with an "Au revoir".

Alabima looked at Jules, petrified and reproachful. The latter had to avert his gaze and directed it to the floor. Then the Ethiopian turned around brusquely and disappeared into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

*

"Who was that man who came to see you yesterday?"

Alabima's voice sounded brittle that morning. After Felden's visit, she had wrestled with herself for a few hours as to whether she should confront Jules or whether it wasn't better for them both not to ask any questions and just wait and see. She had decided on the former.

"An acquaintance. From England," Jules said evasively. But there was a startle in his voice.

"An acquaintance, you say. From the Lodge, perhaps? Was it about Project 32? Then why didn't he stay for dinner?"

"His flight back left early in the afternoon, from Geneva."

"And why did he fly here for such a short visit anyway? For just an hour or two?"

There was no point in any further evasion. It was astonishing that his wife had not confronted him about this visitor yesterday. It would have been easy for Jules to lie, as she had mentioned Project 32, even if he had never received anyone from this project in his house in all the years before. But looking his wife in the eye and then deliberately lying to her was not an alternative to the truth.

"It was purely business, Alabima. He needed some information from me and I gave it to him."

"Some information? Did they have anything to do with our stay in Russia?"

Guiltily, Jules looked at the tablecloth in front of him, wanting to collect himself and think of his answer. Only after two seconds did he look up again and look his wife in the face, searching for understanding.

"I couldn't keep my knowledge a secret any longer, could I? There is simply too much riding on it. Europe and the world must be able to prepare for the possible threats from Russia, must find diplomatic ways to avert them perhaps still. It was our duty to inform the right people about this, Alabima."

"Our duty?" his wife sneered and then laughed once and shrilly, "our duty, you say? What do you think you're doing, Jules Lederer? Your first duty is to protect your family and nothing else. But what do you do? You are throwing Putin's warnings to the wind and making Russia your enemy. Oh, Jules," she twisted her upper body as if she felt cramps and her eyes filled with tears, "you are putting us all in the greatest danger. Surely you must have realised that?"

Jules shook his head.

"Alabima, we must not think only of ourselves. How could we continue to live here calmly when such a disaster is brewing in our immediate vicinity? No, I simply had to inform about it. Because sooner or later, even here in Switzerland, we would no longer be able to live safely from these dangers. More than three hundred million people are threatened. In a situation like this, you can't hesitate and you have to take a risk sometimes."

He ended a little awkwardly, looking equally guilty and unsettled. His wife,

meanwhile, looked at him more and more angrily. Her eyes even flared up with anger then. She would have liked to shake her husband vigorously like a silly boy so that he would finally see reason.

"Are you crazy, Jules? What use is it to put ourselves in direct danger in order to possibly protect other people who are complete strangers to us? The Russians do what they want. The development can hardly be stopped, whatever Putin and this Gerriosch might be planning. We can also leave Europe at any time if the danger increases. We could return to Ethiopia, for example, or emigrate to America."

"Running away and shirking responsibility? No, Alabima, it doesn't work like that. I don't run away from problems, no matter how big they may seem at first sight. You have to stand up for your freedom and for your life and fight when you have to..."

"...at the expense of your family? Do you realise what you are talking about?" she interjected angrily, "you talk about responsibility and forget your own family, your children. I made it clear to you a fortnight ago that I cannot accept this. You heard my warning and yet you are putting us in the greatest danger. I spoke to Chufu this morning. He will stay with you. But for Alina and me, it's over now. I will not sacrifice my daughter to your bigotry. I'm leaving you."

With that, she jumped up from the table, stormed out of the dining room and up the stairs to the upper floor before Jules could say anything back. Three seconds later, the upstairs bedroom door slammed shut. Jules remained sitting helplessly in the chair, staring at his half-empty coffee cup, not knowing what other good arguments he could have put forward for his behaviour. How could he dissuade his wife from her decision? Was that what he wanted? Or was it perhaps even best for his daughter Alina if Alabima separated from him?

After a few minutes, he heard through the open kitchen door his wife slowly descending the stairs. For a moment he hoped she had been upstairs crying for a while and would come down to him to talk about everything again calmly, maybe also give him another chance to explain. But then he heard a bunch of keys rattle, the front door opened and slid back into its lock a little later.

Jules knew it was over.

Thursday, 16 October 2008

Jules had just finished the conference call with Cartwright and Johannson. They had discussed the latest results in Project 32. The progress seemed promising. Everything pointed to a certain place where the key to solving the mystery must lie. Cartwright would make all the necessary preparations for a successful visit to the island in the next few weeks. And this time Jules wanted to take part in the scientists' work. The Swiss felt that after almost eight years of intensive and expensive research, they were finally close to their goal.

However, even after the stimulating conversation with Cartwright and Johannson, the Swiss still felt listless and without energy. The important undertaking of the United Masonic Lodges of Great Britain had only pulled him out of his leaden lethargy for a short time. He did not have to report to the project committee in London again for another two weeks. Until then, he had to somehow pull himself together and fight on.

In the last few weeks, he had visited the children's home in Lausanne whenever he could get up the nerve. In the meantime, he got along very well with the young people there. They had accepted him as a kind of big brother and had taken some of them into their hearts. Time and again, he invited a smaller group on excursions. Once he spent a day with the older ones at the Museum of Transport in Lucerne. They were fascinated by the IMAX cinema and the film about ancient Egypt. Or he took the younger children on a train ride to Mendrisio and they visited the Swiss Miniature. How tired but extremely happy the children were when they returned home late at night.

Jules pulled himself together and concentrated to type all the information he had heard and thoughts he had made from the telephone conference into his laptop.

The excavations near the old port city of Al Mukalla on the Indian Ocean had started earlier than expected. To grease the hand of some influential personalities had worked wonders and even the Chinese scientists got their entry permits in record time.

How much valuable time had they lost because of the amissed Iraq war by the Americans? Their progress in reaching an understanding with the Yemeni government was suddenly replaced by deep mistrust and rejection. Further, extremely tough, and protracted negotiations with high, financial concessions had become necessary. But all that was now water under the bridge, or in this case, sand. The total cost to date was just over eight million pounds. So at least the planned financial framework of Project 32 was far from exhausted.

Jules' thoughts drifted back to Sirdan Erhi, the sub-project leader for the Indian subcontinent. He had disappeared without a trace since a tiger hunt three weeks ago. The hunt had been with film cameras, not guns. But the Sirdan elephant had run away with him after a startled wild swarm of bees descended on the hunting party. Later, the elephant was found standing by a stream, a few kilometres from the base camp, but there was no trace of Sirdan. Jules was aware that he would have to appoint a new sub-project leader for India. But in doing so, he would have itted to himself that Erhi was dead. Perhaps that was why Jules was still hesitant about the decision and toyed with the idea of combining the India team with Cartwright's archaeologists for the time being.

Once again, Jules' thoughts returned to the mission of the Masonic lodges.

Could it perhaps be that over five hundred years ago, for the same reason, the Chinese emperor left the post of chief defender of the ancient capital Nanjing vacant for two years, even though the previous incumbent, his iral Zheng He, had not returned from his last voyage from India? Did the Chinese emperor also hold out hope for a long time that the missing man would return home after all? Did even the emperor of the time feel uneasy at the thought of itting the

death of his iral with the replacement of the post?

The front doorbell rang, startling the Swiss man out of his thoughts. Jules routinely packed up the few documents on his desk and placed the briefcase in the wall safe, locking it carefully. Then he shut down his laptop as well. Only then did he walk down the hall to the front door. In the meantime, the doorbell rang a second time. He opened the door with a flourish and froze.

His Alabima stood in front of him, carrying little Alina in her arms. The Ethiopian's eyes looked at him sceptically and at the same time carefully scanning him. Two suitcases stood behind the two of them and the taxi just disappeared out of the exit onto the main road and towards Lausanne. Jules still stood frozen, unable to say anything. Then suddenly the world began to spin around him and he felt dizziness. This return was too unexpected, too surprising was the sight of the beloved wife and the equally missing daughter.

He swallowed with difficulty and felt how parched his throat suddenly was. Alabima gazed steadfastly and inquiringly into his eyes during all those seconds, waiting for a reaction from him. She was perhaps most unsure herself whether he would react with joy or even anger at the sight of her.

As if in a dream and without being able to say a word, Jules took a step towards Alabima and sank to his knees in front of her, which suddenly went soft. He wrapped his arms around his wife's thighs, buried his face in her skirt. Alabima let this happen silently, just standing there quietly, but now no longer looking down at him questioningly, but full of understanding and love. She, too, had not yet uttered a word, for she was now overcome with emotion.

Jules felt his eyes moisten and his tears wet the fabric of the skirt. His breath was coming in jerks, as if he had run up a flight of stairs, and his body was greedily

demanding more oxygen. Then a long, miserable sigh escaped him, containing so much of his overflowing emotions, of his torment in the last weeks, of his lostness. Then a drop hit his hair from above and a second immediately followed. He turned his face upwards, looked into the face of his beloved Alabima, consumed with emotion, whose beautiful eyes had reddened and from which tear after tear now broke away, ran to the tip of her nose and from there fell down onto his face.

Her lips moved. But he only heard her words as if through cotton wool, for his agitated blood roared in his ears.

"Oh, Jules."

Her hand stroked his hair, embraced his head, and pressed his face more firmly against her abdomen. But at that moment, there was nothing provocative or even sexual between the two adults. Rather, they were seconds of silent connection, an intimacy they had never known before, with strong feelings, like two worlds merging.

He felt the warmth of her body through the thin fabric on his forehead and cheeks. His skin greedily absorbed it, more and more and more. The warmth flooded his head, his body, filled him with new energy. Finally, the strength returned to his legs and he stood up, a little embarrassed, wiping the tears from his cheeks with his hands. He stood face to face with his wife, who looked at him steadfastly, with a warm gaze full of understanding and trust.

No matter what she had imagined during all those weeks in Addis Ababa and certainly during her long journey back to Switzerland, fierce rejection, an outburst of anger or even icy bitterness about her flight to Ethiopia, about his unanswered letters, about her refusal to accept his calls to her parents. Now she

saw, felt, and sensed how much he had missed her after all, how drained his body and soul must be, starved of a life without his beloved daughter and without his partner.

"Do you want take us back?", Alabima asked him with a girlish smile that begged for forgiveness. And even though she had long been able to read the answer a thousand times in his eyes, he had to swallow the thick lump from his throat before he could answer her.

"You are my life, Alabima. Without you two, I am but a shadow of myself. You can hardly imagine how many reproaches I have made to myself in all these weeks and months for being so stupidly stubborn, how deeply I have always regretted putting you in danger and forcing you to flee in this way. Alabima, I always knew that you, Alina and Chufu were the most important things in my life. But I put all that at risk out of a foolish pride and under a false sense of duty. Please forgive me. I love you guys more than anything."

They kissed softly and for a long time, letting their tongues make up for some of what they had denied each other over the past months. They caressed each other as before, wanting to feel each other's softness and take in the taste of the beloved other, over and over again.

Impatiently, Alina began, still on the arm of Alabima, to tug at Jules' moustache. And then all at once she said "Baaabaa".

Stunned, Jules broke away from his wife and looked at his little daughter. Another stream of tears flooded his eyes and before he could push back his strong feelings, he was blubbering. Too much input for my empty soul, he would write in his diary late that night.

His crying distorted his face, pulled his mouth askew, reddened his cheeks and eyes. He suddenly realised how weak and helpless he was in front of his wife and daughter at that moment. Nevertheless, he could not control his emotions for a long time, he felt all the pent-up feelings inside him bursting out, the hopelessness in his life, together with the thoughts of his death, being washed away in equal measure with these tears.

"Come on, Jules, let's go into the house," Alabima's soft voice forced its way into his consciousness. He gave another loud sigh, pulled up his nose and ran his fingers over his face, sniffling and wiping his eyes dry with the sleeves of his shirt.

"Yes, please come in."

He packed the two suitcases, put them in the hallway and locked the front door. Alabima had disappeared into the living room with Alina. When he followed, the two were sitting on the sofa. Alabima had turned her head towards him, looking at him over her right shoulder with a smile. He walked around the seating area, squatted on the low table in front of it, gently clasped his wife's hands and pulled her over onto his knees. She let him do it, looking at him lovingly.

"I have been blaming myself so much all these weeks, Alabima. I have cursed myself and my stubbornness. It drove you away from me. I regretted a thousand times my wrong decision. For without you, sooner or later, I must break, for I cannot live without you both."

In his wife's eyes he saw understanding, but also her own guilt.

"I too have reproached myself greatly, Jules," Alabima itted to him, "I have realised in the meantime that I have asked too much of you. You are the best partner, husband, and father anyone could wish for. But in the weeks of separation, I have also realised more and more clearly that all the other people in this world count for you too. You basically did what you felt was right, even if it meant you had to act against my demands. I was so angry, Jules, angry at you. And I was blinded by the situation you were in. I became more and more aware of that over the months without you, thanks in no small part to the conversations I had with my father."

"You talked to Effredi and Luena ?"

"Of course, because my parents naturally wanted to know why I flew to them alone with Alina and wanted to stay with them for weeks, why I didn't talk to you on the phone or read your letters."

"And what did they mean?"

"You know my mother. She ed me unconditionally, as always. Do what you think is right, for yourself and for Alina, she advised me, don't let men define you strangely, but stay true to yourself. «

"And Effredi?"

"He didn't say anything at first, just listened to what I had to say. You know him. He doesn't like to get involved in things that don't directly concern him or my

mother, even if his advice is sought by many people. But a few weeks ago, he told me a story about Immo, the predator hunter, and Illia, his fearful wife. She had left him because she was afraid of becoming a widow one day. Immo could not cope with the separation, did not want to go on living without his Illia. He gave himself up. My father wanted to make it clear to me with this story that I cannot decide between danger and safety, but only for you or against you. He probably realised that my thoughts about you and our partnership were completely wrong, that I wasn't questioning our relationship at all, but only what you, Jules, had always stood for. Nevertheless, I fought with myself for a long time until I was able to conquer my fear for Alina and her future. But I realised that there must be people like you who put the good of many above their own good. I realised that I could only you on this path to the best of my ability or I would have to give you up forever. Two days ago, I suddenly felt strongly and clearly that you and I simply belong together and I must not repeat Illia's mistake. When I realised this, I packed my bags without hesitation and we flew back here on the next flight. My parents send their love and wish us luck."

They hugged each other for a long time, not speaking a word, just feeling the warmth of their bodies and a new, much stronger bond than before. Alina had looked up at them in wonder for a while, but had dozed off in the meantime, sitting contentedly on the sofa with her eyelids closed, breathing softly through her cute little snub nose, in and out, in and out.

End