made no sense. Besides, if Jack Farrell had truly feared what the SEC was going to find and knew they were looking at him, he ought to have moved someplace where he would be safe from extradition. He had access to at least forty or fifty million in legitimate and relatively liquid funds. With the language and business skills to earn more once he had resettled that should have been sufficient. It happened all the time. There were countries that didn't care about 'minor' infractions and welcomed billionaires and their fortunes, but once stolen money was involved, these same countries were no longer willing to protect individuals from extradition.
At this point Farrell's options were limited and uniformly unappealing. He could engage the services of a rogue nation and take his chances with a lawless dictator, or he could change his identity and settle down in obscurity somewhere in a second or third world country. Why, Malloy wondered, would an intelligent man put himself in such an unenviable position?
The Languedoc
Summer, 1931.
Dieter Bachman found Rahn at his pension quite early on the morning after their dinner together. Bachman seemed like a man about to make an unsavoury offer, but in fact simply enquired of Rahn if he would be willing to act as a guide for a few days. Rahn, not sure he understood what was expected of him, hesitated.
'There is such a lot to see,' Bachman added with an awkward smile, 'and to be blunt about it we really had not planned to tour the region, but you have ignited our interest - in the Cathars, I mean!' He added that he would pick up all of Rahn's expenses, and naturally pay Herr Rahn for his trouble. The amount he offered was well above the rates the locals charged, and Rahn took a moment before responding. One did not want to appear too eager, after all.
'There are plenty of guides about,' Rahn answered. 'Have you enquired as to their rates?'
'If one is pleased with superficial accounts, one can get a discount, I am sure. I understand that, Herr Rahn. We are not interested in that sort of thing, however. I am thinking a week or two, as your schedule allows. Some of the castles and a few of the grander caves, a bit of the history along the way, and over dinner something with an academic flavour to it so we might take something away from the experience.'
'I suppose I could do that. Certainly. It sounds like it might be a great deal of fun, actually.' And with that they shook hands.
Alone, Rahn considered the exchange. Herr Bachman's words had suggested nothing untoward, but his manner had seemed awkward, as if he were proposing a bit more than a tour through the Pyrenees. Despite his instincts toward caution, however, Rahn dismissed his concerns. Bachman was clearly not the sort who might enjoy his wife's infidelity. He was very careful of her, actually. Maybe he just wanted to become acquainted with the sensation. Flirting with disaster, so to speak. Not that a flirtation with Frau Bachman would be hard work. Not at all. Frau Bachman - Elise - was extraordinary. A dark beauty, taller than average, with a lean, athletic build, and the saucy smile of a woman who is still alive to the pleasures of the world. Not hard work, by any means! Plus she had seemed interested in everything he had said - no pretty face and empty head, that one. She was probably his age, he decided. Born in this century, at least, with the Great War being only a childhood memory. Years, maybe even a couple of decades younger than her husband, who wasn't really a bad sort, only a bit pretentious.
He had gathered from certain remarks that they had been married a few years. They were not newly-weds. More likely, they were looking for the spark that could bring back the honeymoon. As he thought about it, Rahn found himself wondering if she had married for love, security, or comfort. Heknew it had not been for the sake of their passion. Dieter Bachman came from old money from what he had indicated. That was something
At this point Farrell's options were limited and uniformly unappealing. He could engage the services of a rogue nation and take his chances with a lawless dictator, or he could change his identity and settle down in obscurity somewhere in a second or third world country. Why, Malloy wondered, would an intelligent man put himself in such an unenviable position?
The Languedoc
Summer, 1931.
Dieter Bachman found Rahn at his pension quite early on the morning after their dinner together. Bachman seemed like a man about to make an unsavoury offer, but in fact simply enquired of Rahn if he would be willing to act as a guide for a few days. Rahn, not sure he understood what was expected of him, hesitated.
'There is such a lot to see,' Bachman added with an awkward smile, 'and to be blunt about it we really had not planned to tour the region, but you have ignited our interest - in the Cathars, I mean!' He added that he would pick up all of Rahn's expenses, and naturally pay Herr Rahn for his trouble. The amount he offered was well above the rates the locals charged, and Rahn took a moment before responding. One did not want to appear too eager, after all.
'There are plenty of guides about,' Rahn answered. 'Have you enquired as to their rates?'
'If one is pleased with superficial accounts, one can get a discount, I am sure. I understand that, Herr Rahn. We are not interested in that sort of thing, however. I am thinking a week or two, as your schedule allows. Some of the castles and a few of the grander caves, a bit of the history along the way, and over dinner something with an academic flavour to it so we might take something away from the experience.'
'I suppose I could do that. Certainly. It sounds like it might be a great deal of fun, actually.' And with that they shook hands.
Alone, Rahn considered the exchange. Herr Bachman's words had suggested nothing untoward, but his manner had seemed awkward, as if he were proposing a bit more than a tour through the Pyrenees. Despite his instincts toward caution, however, Rahn dismissed his concerns. Bachman was clearly not the sort who might enjoy his wife's infidelity. He was very careful of her, actually. Maybe he just wanted to become acquainted with the sensation. Flirting with disaster, so to speak. Not that a flirtation with Frau Bachman would be hard work. Not at all. Frau Bachman - Elise - was extraordinary. A dark beauty, taller than average, with a lean, athletic build, and the saucy smile of a woman who is still alive to the pleasures of the world. Not hard work, by any means! Plus she had seemed interested in everything he had said - no pretty face and empty head, that one. She was probably his age, he decided. Born in this century, at least, with the Great War being only a childhood memory. Years, maybe even a couple of decades younger than her husband, who wasn't really a bad sort, only a bit pretentious.
He had gathered from certain remarks that they had been married a few years. They were not newly-weds. More likely, they were looking for the spark that could bring back the honeymoon. As he thought about it, Rahn found himself wondering if she had married for love, security, or comfort. Heknew it had not been for the sake of their passion. Dieter Bachman came from old money from what he had indicated. That was something
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