by Nick Thacker
Dietrich thought for a moment, then nodded. “I do. He is subtle, discreet. He will likely demand more money, especially since we are giving him almost no information to go off of. But he is good at what he does — better than we would be, for sure. Let’s let him continue, with our oversight.”
“If he does not perform…”
“If he fails, we take matters into our own hands,” Dietrich said. “Let me handle that. You need to focus on the upcoming trials, once we resolve this matter.”
10
Ben
Ben shook his head, both to calm his nerves and to shake off the last of the early-morning jitters. He wasn’t awake earlier than he normally was, but a six-in-the-morning alarm clock after a full day of travel always seemed too early.
Nonetheless, he was awake, and it was time to work. He downed his third cup of coffee — one in the inn’s bedroom, another while visiting with the owner of Alina’s, and now this one.
He was sitting in a comfortable chair in one of the many cafes that lined the main thoroughfare of Grindelwald, the same road that his own inn was on, and the one Alina’s and Downtown Lodge was on as well.
He sipped at this cup, finding it notably better than the first two. Or perhaps he was more awake, and his senses were finally more adept. Either way, he enjoyed the cup. He shivered out the last of the chills — the morning was a bit colder than the evening had been, and he still had yet to visit the store the barman had recommended last night.
“Mr. Bennett?”
He heard the voice from behind him, and he turned around, nearly spitting out his drink. The woman who’d spoken was incredibly beautiful. Bright-red hair that fell straight halfway down her back, and a body that seemed to have been chiseled into the perfect shape.
He stood, trying to pretend away the shock.
“Hi,” he said. “Call me Ben. You must be Eliza Earnhardt?”
She smiled, shocking him once again. Get a grip, man, he thought. You’ve seen beautiful women before. You’re married to one, for Christ’s sake.
“Thank you for meeting with me,” she said, coming around to the front of Ben’s chair, where there was an identical one waiting. “I am sorry you had to fly all this way, but you’re the only one I could think of to help.”
Ben sat again, offering her a drink. She waved it off. “Why is that, may I ask?” he asked. “Why we’re the only ones you could think of?”
“Oh,” she said. “It’s not that you’re the only one, it’s just that I’ve tried everything else. I explained part of it to Juliette, your wife. I have heard of the CSO from your work here in Europe.”
‘Work’ is not usually how people describe it, Ben thought. She’s trying to flatter us. The CSO had been in the news a bit over the past year, mostly for disrupting peacetime investigations into international museum fraud in Athens, and then ousting a good-standing Minister of Antiquities in Egypt. They weren’t sorry for those things — what they had prevented would have been far more disruptive — but still, it was sometimes difficult to explain to people that they really were the ‘good guys.’
“Thanks,” he said. “Yeah, she mentioned that you’ve tried the police? And government?”
Eliza seemed slightly offended by the mention of the police. “They’re as much a mess to deal with as the government. Both are useless.”
“When it comes to bringing this company to justice?”
She didn’t answer.
“I see,” Ben said, smiling. She definitely has it out for the government. He’d met people like that before. They lacked trust in most organizations and official authorities, and they were quick to question anything that smelled like bureaucracy. Knowing that she and her late husband had been lobbyists against most governments and corporations seemed to fit perfectly.
"I called you because I know you do not worry about things like laws and rules."
“Whoa, whoa,” Ben said, smiling. He leaned forward in his chair. “It’s not that we don’t worry about them — we just don’t let them get in our way when we know there’s right and wrong, and we believe we’ve found the right.”
“I know what’s right and wrong here, as well,” she said. “And I want you to help me do what’s right.”
“And what’s that?” Ben asked. He could already tell that this woman was smart, to-the-point, and incredibly adept at navigating a conversation to her point of view. And she was doing it all in English, a language he knew was her second or third. He wanted to remain out in front, to ensure he got the questions answered he needed.
She took a breath. “You spoke with Alina’s father this morning?”
Ben couldn’t hide his surprise. “Y — you heard about that?”
She smiled, an honest, genuine grin. “Sorry. It’s a small town. Grindelwald may have four-thousand people, but the ones you’ll actually run into here in town are well-connected.”
“You’re one of them?”
“I’m not, but I’ve lived here long enough that they trust me. And it’s not espionage, Ben. There’s just usually nothing better to do than discuss Ms. Allworth’s latest batch of honey or Ruegsegger’s latest goat-breeding troubles. Trust me, when something like Alina’s disappearance comes through, everyone knows about it.”
“Right,” Ben said. “Although goat-breeding stories are quite popular back home, too.”
She laughed, and her nose rose up a bit. Her teeth were as perfect as her figure. She shifted on the chair, throwing a long leg up and over her other knee.
“So, yes, I did see him,” Ben said. “He was… distraught.”
“Of course,” she replied. “This is his daughter. She has been missing now for, what? Three days?”
“Two,” Ben said. “And she was coming back from university in Geneva.”
“Her father’s land backs up to the hill just out of town,” she said. “EKG owns that land.”
Ben frowned. “You think EKG — the company you want to go after — has something to do with Alina’s disappearance?”
She shrugged. “No idea. But once I give you all the information, I believe you will find the entire thing suspect, as well.”
"Okay," Ben said. "I'll bite. I'm here, after all. I flew around the world to meet with you because my wife and coworkers say your story checks out. But you wouldn't tell us what you really want. ‘Investigating a company’ isn’t really something we’re equipped to do, and yet you were adamant that we were the right ones for the job.”
Eliza got serious, the color in her face fading a bit. She flicked her eyes left and right, then stared holes through Ben. She leaned forward, her face inching toward his.
“Ben, I want you to find the people at the company — at EKG — who are responsible for killing my husband.”
11
Elias
Elias Ziegler crossed the street and entered the small cafe, five minutes exactly before the scheduled start of the meeting. He'd been instructed to meet there at nine o'clock in the morning, ostensibly to discuss 'options' with the company that had contracted him.
He stepped over the ancient wooden threshold and entered an equally ancient cafe, tiny and smashed together in the style of every other European cafe. He didn’t like these sorts of places. Besides being too small for a man of his large stature, it was simply uncomfortable for him to be in such warm, inviting places. He never knew how to act.
“Coffee, sir?” a young barista asked as soon as he’d entered the building.
Elias ducked his head to dodge a low-hanging light fixture and eyed the space. There were two other men sitting in a corner booth around a circular table, engaged in conversation. A woman stood behind the barista, cleaning something.
The kid repeated the question in German.
“Uh, coffee, yes,” Elias said. He cleared his throat. When was the last time I’ve spoken? he wondered.
“You… want a latte? Perhaps something —“
“Coffee. Black. Hot.”
The kid swallowed and nodded quickly, no
doubt taken aback at the attitude of a man who had to be the only person in this village who wasn’t excited to be there.
The woman continued cleaning with one hand but reached out and grabbed a short, stout coffee mug with her right hand and flipped it up and began pouring the drink.
The kid regained his composure. “That — that’ll be four francs.”
Elias was stunned. Four francs? What the hell have I stumbled into? He longed for the days before the Americans had discovered cafes and cappuccinos, before they created expensive desserts out of what used to be simple hot beverages. And he longed for the days before America exported those same abominations back to Europe, where they’d come from. It seemed everyone in the developed world felt better about themselves by being able to afford an outrageously priced coffee.
He slapped the bill and coins on the counter and sighed, trying to pass off his impatience at the young man in the hopes that the kid wouldn’t ask him any more questions.
“Are — are you in town for long?” the kid asked.
Apparently, his purchase of the coffee had signaled to the kid that Elias wanted a longer conversation.
The woman placed the cup of coffee on the counter with a brief smile; then she turned back to cleaning.
“No.”
He turned and left the kid, shocked, at the counter. Elias walked briskly toward the corner of the room, opposite the two men already seated.
“Elias Ziegler?”
He stopped, waiting. The man repeated the name. Elias turned slowly, eyeing both men.
One was seated facing across the table at the other man, whose legs were poking out from underneath the table and facing him. He was the one who had spoken. He wore an expression of intrigue and anticipation. One eyebrow up a bit, a few wrinkles cutting across the front part of his newly balding head.
He looked like a banker who had allowed himself to be carried fully into the expectations of his industry, to let himself be mired in the details and drudgery of numbers and accounting and spreadsheets, and completely forget that there was supposed to be something resembling a human on the outside.
His hair, what was left of it, was slicked back, and wiry glasses curved around his eyes and nearly all the way around his ears. Elias sized him up while he stepped toward the two men. Slightly overweight but certainly not obese, the man looked as though he’d never been in a gym in his life but had been hounded by his wife to eat better.
The other man looked a bit more palatable. Similarly slicked-back dark-brown hair, wearing a turtleneck sweater underneath a puffy gray winter down vest, slacks and sock-less shoes. Sneakers. The man looked like a French mountain climber: in shape, but woefully out of style.
"I'm Ziegler," Elias said. He approached the table. His hand went involuntarily for his back, where he kept an H&K VP9 tucked into a belt holster. He knew these men were here for the meeting, which had been sanctioned by the same company that had hired him, so it was unlikely they would attack him for any reason.
Still, old habits died hard.
He brought his hand back out to shake the first man’s — the banker’s.
“Mr. Ziegler,” this man began in German, “my name is Roger Dietrich, this is Lars Tennyson. We are with EKG.”
“And in what capacity are you with EKG?”
“I work with the research wing. I am Lars’ assistant.”
“I see.”
"Thank you for meeting with us," Dietrich said. He motioned with an upturned palm for Ziegler to sit. Elias considered opting out but didn't see any benefit to remaining standing. There was no one else besides the kid and the woman in the tiny cafe. "I hope you are enjoying your coffee."
“It’s coffee.”
“Right. Well, anyway, thank you again. I wanted to let you know of some progress we’ve made with the project.”
Ziegler was legitimately confused now. He knew the ‘project’ was this hunting trip they had funded. They wanted Ziegler to find — and kill — something in the foothills of the Swiss Alps, specifically in the wide, expansive tract of land the company owned in the region.
So far he had not been successful. But it had only been three days, and they hadn’t explained what exactly it was he was supposed to hunt.
“I take it you’re going to tell me what the hell I’m supposed to be looking for out there?” Elias asked.
The two other men exchanged a quick glance, and the banker-looking one spoke. “No, unfortunately. We can’t discuss that here. When we get into the field again, perhaps we can —“
“Into the field again?” Ziegler asked. “I thought this project was over? I was going to come back and complain that you haven’t given me enough time.”
“That’s… part of why we’re here, Mr. Ziegler. You see, the company feels the same as you — this project must be continued.”
“I agree.”
“Right. Well, we would like to extend the length of the project, and offer some assistance.”
“Sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Three more days — another expedition. This time, you’ll have help.” He looked across at Lars, then back to Ziegler.
Elias paused, taking a long look at Dietrich and Tennyson. “You?”
“Yes, Mr. Ziegler.”
“No.”
“I — I’m sorry?”
“I work alone. I believe I made that clear to your bosses when I accepted this contract.”
“You did, Mr. Ziegler. However, with the most recent course of events —“
“What events?”
“I mean with your… failure, as of yet, to produce on the contract’s final deliverables, we —“
“Shoot straight with me, son,” Ziegler said, cutting him off. “I shoot straight when I’m shooting and talking. That’s why you hired me. Now, you’re pissed because I haven’t given you… whatever the hell it is that’s out there, that your bosses are worried about. I’m here because I’m telling you I will find it, and I will deliver it to your doorstep. That’s a fact.”
“Right, that’s what I’m getting to. We just feel that it would be prudent for us to offer our —“
“I work alone.”
“— Give our support while in the field for another three days.”
Lars leaned forward, speaking for the first time. “The support is not optional, Mr. Ziegler.” He wore a constant half-grin, a smug know-it-all look that Ziegler immediately hated. Definitely French, he thought.
Elias sighed. “I’m not being given a choice, am I?”
“Well, Mr. Ziegler, you are free to turn in your contract and return home. We can find another —“
“I can find it. Whatever it is. But it’s going to cost more.”
The small man nodded, his glasses falling a few centimeters down his nose. “Good. Yes. That is the second topic we wanted to discuss with you. I have authority to triple the contract’s price upon —“
“I accept.” Elias took a quick sip of his coffee, then began to slide out of the booth seat.
“That — that is it? You are fine with the terms?”
Elias sniffed, looked at each man once again, then curled his shoulders inward. His massive frame seemed to roll in on itself, consuming the entire table. The two men sat back a bit in their seats. “I am decidedly not okay with this ‘support’ you think you are offering me. But I will hold you to your first words. You will tell me exactly what it is I am to be looking for out here. This isn’t a lazy camping trip for me. I want to produce results, gentlemen, and I will, once I have the right information.”
He once again slid out of the seat and stood, now towering over the table. “Is that clear?”
Dietrich and Tennyson nodded simultaneously.
“We — we’ll email you the meetup time and location,” Lars called out.
Elias didn’t bother shaking their hands as he left.
12
Ben
“Wait,” Ben said. “You think they killed him? You told us it was a climbing
accident.”
She nodded. “I know they did. EKG was where I worked for seven years, at their old headquarters in Austria. My husband and I bought into the business model, the research, all of it. Until things started to change. He had a career in lobbying, mostly working for organizations similar to Greenpeace and PETA, stuff like that.
“Things at the company began to shift toward animal research and testing, which is always a little touchy.”
“Yeah, I’d have to agree with that,” Ben said.
“But we knew that it was necessary, too. In certain forms, and in specific, very regulated ways. My husband was an expert on that sort of thing. Legislation necessary for proper testing and research. Treatment methodologies that allowed all parties to benefit.”
“Like not killing animals.”
“Right. These aren’t new ideas, either. We’ve been able to perform 99% of our research without harming or even stressing the lives that are used during the process.”
“I see.”
“So when things at EKG started to change — namely, the company splitting off a small section of its overall research and development laboratories and moving them here — my husband and I were concerned.”
“Why?”
“Because they did it in a way that was… strange. I was working in that department, and the way they explained it was by issuing a memo. Via email. It said something to the effect of, ‘we’re moving. Some of you are fired.’”
Ben laughed. “Sounds like they didn’t really inform anyone as to their intentions.”
“Exactly. And that was internal, to their own staff scientists. You can’t imagine how vague and nondescript they were toward the general public.”
“I bet.”
“Anyway, after this happened, about the time they started building the headquarters for their division here, I stepped down. My husband was doing well, and I had concerns as to the integrity of the company and their direction anyway. I thought I would dip my hand into some of the work he was doing — he had too much of it for one person, anyway.