face. It was as though until this moment he had lived his entire life in muted black and white: suddenly it was in blinding Technicolor. His senses fizzed. Despite the neoprene suit he felt naked and raw, as though every nerve ending was exposed.
How could he not have noticed just how perfect her face was? He had seen her last night -- but he hadn't really seen her. Not like he was seeing her now. As he stared at her, a host of intense, unfamiliar emotions swirled in his breast. She was now only inches away, as mesmerized by him as he was by her. She touched his cheek and the sensation was almost too much to bear. Panic welled in his chest, nausea churned in his belly. He was falling over a cliff, losing all control. He closed his eyes, reached out and stroked the contours of her face with his fingertips.
He lost track of how long they stood there on the deserted beach, eyes closed, lost in themselves, tracing each other's features.
'What's your name?'
He opened his eyes. 'Max.'
'I'm Isabella.' She smiled and took his hand. 'Last night you wouldn't let me buy you a drink. Perhaps I can tempt you with breakfast?'
'Good idea. I'm starving.'
As they walked back to the hotel, neither saw the man crouching at the far end of the beach, one eye peering into the monitor of a digital video camera, the other covered with a black patch.
ZOOM IN, STEIN. HELMUT KAPPEL GAZED AT THE COMPUTER SCREEN on his desk at Kappel Privatbank in Zurich. He had never regretted recruiting the man almost three decades ago. When Stein had first come to Zurich he had been a young agent working for the Stasi, escorting a corrupt senior Communist Party official who was in Switzerland to open a secret account with Kappel Privatbank; Kappel had been impressed with the young Stein's loyalty and discretion. Later the official fell foul of the political machine and was executed, but Stein escaped to the West. Since then he had handled all of Helmut's and Kappel Privatbank's security needs with unquestioning loyalty. And with the fall of the Berlin wall Stein had recruited more highly trained and grateful ex-Stasi.
'Closer. Stop. Hold it.'
The mobile phone link between Stein's digital video camera in Antibes and the computer screen on Helmut Kappel's desk in Zurich was sharp enough for Helmut to see the expression on Max's face. It was a revelation to watch him caress Isabella's cheek.
'Follow them. I want you to be my eyes, Stein. But don't let Max or the girl see you.'
Max and Isabella held hands and walked across the sand to the hotel. It was too early to judge Bacci's drug, but the expression on Max's face sent a surge of fire through Helmut's veins. If the drug could turn his son, a man inured to emotion, into a lovesick fool, it was powerful indeed. He reached for the silver cigarette box on his desk, then changed his mind and took a cigar from the wooden box beside it. He extracted a razor-sharp curved knife from a sheath strapped to his right ankle and cut off the tip. An Arab assassin had presented the mother-of-pearl-handled knife to his great-great-grandfather as a mark of respect. Helmut carried it with him always.
He puffed at the cigar and watched the computer screen avidly. There was a lull while his son changed out of his diving gear. Then he saw Max join Isabella on the hotel terrace for breakfast. The way she glanced adoringly at him made Helmut almost envious.
He regarded the picture on his desk of his third wife, Eva. She was in her thirties -- three decades his junior -- and blonde. He had once thought her beautiful, but she had never looked at him as Isabella was now looking at Max. Eva had married him for money and status, and Helmut understood that: emotions only complicated matters. Since the trouble with Max's mother, he had avoided becoming involved with his second and third wives, insisting on cast-iron prenuptial agreements and forbidding them any contact with the family business.
However, as he watched Isabella and Max,
How could he not have noticed just how perfect her face was? He had seen her last night -- but he hadn't really seen her. Not like he was seeing her now. As he stared at her, a host of intense, unfamiliar emotions swirled in his breast. She was now only inches away, as mesmerized by him as he was by her. She touched his cheek and the sensation was almost too much to bear. Panic welled in his chest, nausea churned in his belly. He was falling over a cliff, losing all control. He closed his eyes, reached out and stroked the contours of her face with his fingertips.
He lost track of how long they stood there on the deserted beach, eyes closed, lost in themselves, tracing each other's features.
'What's your name?'
He opened his eyes. 'Max.'
'I'm Isabella.' She smiled and took his hand. 'Last night you wouldn't let me buy you a drink. Perhaps I can tempt you with breakfast?'
'Good idea. I'm starving.'
As they walked back to the hotel, neither saw the man crouching at the far end of the beach, one eye peering into the monitor of a digital video camera, the other covered with a black patch.
ZOOM IN, STEIN. HELMUT KAPPEL GAZED AT THE COMPUTER SCREEN on his desk at Kappel Privatbank in Zurich. He had never regretted recruiting the man almost three decades ago. When Stein had first come to Zurich he had been a young agent working for the Stasi, escorting a corrupt senior Communist Party official who was in Switzerland to open a secret account with Kappel Privatbank; Kappel had been impressed with the young Stein's loyalty and discretion. Later the official fell foul of the political machine and was executed, but Stein escaped to the West. Since then he had handled all of Helmut's and Kappel Privatbank's security needs with unquestioning loyalty. And with the fall of the Berlin wall Stein had recruited more highly trained and grateful ex-Stasi.
'Closer. Stop. Hold it.'
The mobile phone link between Stein's digital video camera in Antibes and the computer screen on Helmut Kappel's desk in Zurich was sharp enough for Helmut to see the expression on Max's face. It was a revelation to watch him caress Isabella's cheek.
'Follow them. I want you to be my eyes, Stein. But don't let Max or the girl see you.'
Max and Isabella held hands and walked across the sand to the hotel. It was too early to judge Bacci's drug, but the expression on Max's face sent a surge of fire through Helmut's veins. If the drug could turn his son, a man inured to emotion, into a lovesick fool, it was powerful indeed. He reached for the silver cigarette box on his desk, then changed his mind and took a cigar from the wooden box beside it. He extracted a razor-sharp curved knife from a sheath strapped to his right ankle and cut off the tip. An Arab assassin had presented the mother-of-pearl-handled knife to his great-great-grandfather as a mark of respect. Helmut carried it with him always.
He puffed at the cigar and watched the computer screen avidly. There was a lull while his son changed out of his diving gear. Then he saw Max join Isabella on the hotel terrace for breakfast. The way she glanced adoringly at him made Helmut almost envious.
He regarded the picture on his desk of his third wife, Eva. She was in her thirties -- three decades his junior -- and blonde. He had once thought her beautiful, but she had never looked at him as Isabella was now looking at Max. Eva had married him for money and status, and Helmut understood that: emotions only complicated matters. Since the trouble with Max's mother, he had avoided becoming involved with his second and third wives, insisting on cast-iron prenuptial agreements and forbidding them any contact with the family business.
However, as he watched Isabella and Max,
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