Publisher’s description: Psychology professor Hans Rekke and policewoman Micaela Vargas are approached by a man – Samuel Lidman. He claims that a photo taken by a friend in Venice shows his late wife Claire in the background. Officially, a woman who had been negotiating with business giants all her professional life disappeared without a trace fourteen years ago, only to burn down in a tank fire in Spain a few months later.
The duo of investigators take on the task of solving the mystery, especially since Rekke notices some significant details in the photo. They prove not only that the woman is alive, but that she is in great danger. The professor also realizes that certain events from his past may have something to do with Claire’s disappearance and were not a coincidence at all…
Below we publish a fragment of the novel:
Axel Larsson couldn’t believe it. Some fucking Rekke invited him for a drink. As soon as he heard the name, he immediately blushed.
“Are you crazy?!” he wanted to shout. “I’d rather have a drink with the devil.”
But the man, who introduced himself as the cabinet secretary’s brother, argued that they might have common interests, so his curiosity was piqued anyway. After all, life is unpredictable and sometimes brothers are also enemies, which is why Axel was going to the Diplomat Hotel. He was going there anyway – he was going to have dinner with the CFO of Carnegie at seven – so he might as well start with a few drinks with the idiot.
By the way, wasn’t this guy already a little drunk? Never mind. He would also like to drink something himself. He has just invested a large sum of money in Nokia shares, which will surely increase any day now. The purchase gave him wings, Axel felt like he used to again. He looked hungrily at the shops on Strandvägen and all the women he met.
“Don’t I deserve a little adventure? A bit of madness?” he asked himself. “Of course, come on, come on!” he replied to himself. Immediately afterwards he entered the hotel. The porter greeted him with a bow and then pointed to a table by the window where a tall, slim man with hawk-like features, dressed in a black shirt, sat.
– Mr. Rekke? – Axel Larsson began. – Correct. It’s an honor. Rekke held out his hand. “Oh, don’t exaggerate,” he replied magnanimously, taking his seat and examining Rekke more closely.
The guy was stilted, had unusually long fingers and sharp facial features. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept in a week. He also clearly skipped any preparations for leaving. His hair was ruffled and his eyes were unfocused, and he didn’t even seem to have buttoned his buttons straight. Why on earth was Axel spending time with this poor man? “Bloody hell! I’ll treat this conversation as charity,” he thought.
– Your name is Hans, right? – he made sure. – Yes. Rekke looked at him with narrowed eyes, as if he hadn’t woken up yet, and ran a hand through his messy hair.
– Are you feeling well? – Axel asked and already felt bored.
“Yes,” he replied. – After all, it’s not every day I date a financial legend. Let’s celebrate this occasion with something special. “What a flatterer,” Axel thought and began scanning the restaurant for women of his type: young blondes, preferably gold diggers, who were interested in rich men his age.
– How about two glasses of Roederer Cristal, vintage 1986? – asked Rekke.
– Sounds good. – You recently made a big deal. Axel Larsson looked at him with surprise.
– Where did this idea come from? – I can see it in your pupils and your posture. Besides, you look at the world quite greedily. And he taps a triple beat with his fingers. A bit like a racehorse that breaks out into the next competition and triumph. What kind of purchase is this?
– I can’t say, it’s a confidential matter. – I see. And wouldn’t it be good if someone less initiated, like me, took over for a while? “Amateurs should stay aside,” Axel retorted.
– Yes, of course, even if some of them are smart enough to know that they know nothing. – Do you mean that the future is unfair? – he asked. – Unfair and unknown. But of course I respect the expertise of specialists.
– I guess it’s best. Although you are clearly at least a champagne connoisseur.
“Nothing could be further from the truth,” Rekke denied. – I’m just pretending, and besides, I want to calm my nerves. But let’s get straight to the point. – You said we might have common interests. – Exactly. We both want to go after the Hungarian investment company Cartaphilus, right?
Axel Larsson shuddered. A wave of unpleasant memories flooded him.
– This is not a company that you just get.
– Why not? – Rekke smiled innocently, so much that Axel wanted to slap him. – Because he will take revenge.
– We wouldn’t want that. Have you ever met Gabor Morovia? Axel looked nervously out the window and mumbled something in response.
– Please? – Rekke asked.
– I was on the verge of bankruptcy then.
– What do you mean?
– That Gabor Morovia didn’t waste his time meeting people like me.
– Is he that proud? – Ask your brother. He and Gabor are best friends. The waiter brought champagne and Rekke made a toast. Suddenly he no longer seemed like a sycophant or a dupe. His gaze pierced Axel through and through.
“I don’t believe that,” he said. – As you may have heard, our father Harald once ran a shipping company. I’d like to say something good about him, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t be entirely true. Dad was a ruthless, unscrupulous briber. In the 1960s, he led a cartel conspiracy and destroyed a competing company called Morovia Shipping.
Its owner, Sandor Morovia, became insolvent, a bit like you, except that other misfortunes befell him later. His wife left him, and he was left alone with his son Gabor and had to return to hated communist Hungary. Later, by some miracle, he begged for a job at the Hungarian embassy in Vienna. My family lived in blissful ignorance for a long time. But then Gabor made us realize it acutely. They hate us because we made them suffer.
– Your brother would sign a pact with the devil himself if he could gain anything from it. Rekke smiled bitterly.
– I understand what you want to say. But my dear brother has a very complex personality. He is not a heartless man, he values loyalty, not a quick win. I really don’t think he would build a long-term relationship with someone like that. At least that’s what I’m counting on. By the way, what do you know about him? – About Morovia? Rekke nodded. – That it’s better not to mess with him. – That’s true. But for me it’s too late. I met him once after my concert in Bern.
– Are you a musician? – I played the piano a long time ago. Anyway, Gabor came to my box. He seemed incredibly brilliant, he had just defended his PhD in mathematics at Trinity College, Cambridge, at a record young age, of course, and at that time he was lecturing on derivatives evaluation methods at the London School of Economics. You know, he’s a bit of a prodigy. He was surprisingly nice to me.
– Really?
– But unfortunately I didn’t answer him as elegantly, and when he handed me his business card, I accidentally tore it into pieces. So my question is: “How do I find it?”
Axel Larsson looked at him, wondering if Rekke was serious. Did he really want to challenge Gabor Morovia, or did he have completely different plans?
– I advise you to leave him alone.
– I insist.
– Gabor has a secret informant in Stockholm. Attorney Alicia Kovács. You’ll find it at the Adler law firm near here.
– Is this a friend of the deceased Claire Lidman?
“I don’t think so,” he replied.
– When was the last time you met Claire Lidman, anyway?
– I don’t remember. – Axel involuntarily started tapping another, restless beat with his fingers, which Professor Rekke read like a seismograph.
Source: Gazeta
Bruce is a talented author and journalist with a passion for entertainment . He currently works as a writer at the 247 News Agency, where he has established himself as a respected voice in the industry.
