Read Online White Death: An Alex Hawke Novella by Ted Bell - Free Book Online
Authors: Ted Bell
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Espionage, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Contemporary Fiction, Thrillers & Suspense, Spies & Politics
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said with a smile.
“And you,” Hawke said, with a smile of his own, “again.”
C HAPTER F OURTEEN
H e didn’t see her again for a few days.
He told himself he had to stop missing her; they’d only just met, for God’s sake. Besides, he was too busy for romance. He and Ambrose spent every waking moment working the case, interviewing bankers and cybersecurity experts—not to mention Walter Heitz, the crusty old detective from the Stadtspolizei who was lead investigator on the case of the missing banker, Leo Hermann.
Everyone they knew, it seemed, was involved. Everyone except the one man they really wanted to talk to—the young Swiss Army grenadier who had actually found the body. Unfortunately, he was in St. Moritz at the moment. Wolfie’s Tenth Mountain Division had relocated to the mountains there for even more intensive alpine training. Extreme pursuit skiing under fire and X-treme parasail combat tactics.
I t was a brilliant morning, the skies shot through with blue; Lake Zurich was peacefully lapping the shore, while the town’s rooftops and church spires were cloaked in a brand-new mantle of purest white.
Hawke eased the silver Aston out of late-morning traffic and rolled to a stop in front of the Zurich Opera House to collect his waiting passenger.
“Hop in,” he said.
“Where’s Ambrose?” Sigrid asked, peering into the car as she climbed inside. Settling into the leather bucket seat, she said, “What in the world have you done with Ambrose, Alex Hawke?”
“He decided it would be too crowded up here for the three of us, so I put him in the back. Fasten your seat belt.”
Sigrid craned her head around. “The back? What back?”
“Ah, yes. I put him in the trunk. He’s fine.”
“What do you mean he’s fine ?”
“I gave him a warm blanket and a thermos full of steaming coffee. It’s only a couple of hours to Geneva. He’ll be fine, don’t worry about him. He can bang on the lid of the trunk if he needs anything. Don’t worry about him, he’s used to it.”
Sigrid punched him in the shoulder, hard. “Do not speak to me as if I had a blond brain, Mr. Hawke!”
Hawke smiled at her and engaged first gear. They slipped into light traffic circling around the Opera House. He’d invited Sigrid to join him at a daylong conference in Geneva.
Fritz Schultz was the keynote speaker. Blinky’s lecture, “Cybersecurity 2015,” was obviously of interest to her, and Hawke had offered to drive her there. They would be driving along Lake Zurich for a while, which was always a scenic delight. Their destination, the Hotel de la Paix, was just outside Geneva, less than two hours away.
“Alex, stop. Where is Ambrose? You told me he was coming with us.”
“Actually? He’s conferring with the Stadtspolizei this morning. Apparently no identification was found on the body, which is interesting in and of itself. Ambrose is looking into the clothing bought in London now. The Savile Row suit he wore, the Lobb shoes. Seeing what purchase records exist.”
“Got it, that’s all very good. So. What kind of car is this anyway, Alex?”
“Aston Martin,” Hawke said, reaching across her to tighten her seat belt. He’d already noticed the pleasing effects of a tight cashmere sweater on her figure; now, her short skirt had ridden high on her tanned thighs. Hawke made a supreme effort to tear his eyes away before he made a fool of himself.
She said, “I don’t even like cars. But this one is stunning. Is it new?”
“It’s not. 1964, actually. A DB5. A perfect example.”
“Ah, a DB5, of course. I knew that.”
Sigrid looked at Hawke after a few minutes and said, “Is this really your car, Alex? It looks and smells frightfully expensive. You didn’t steal it, did you?”
“I thought about it. But my moral instincts won out and I bought it this morning. From a private owner in Zurich, a fanatic James Bond fan. He has been e-mailing photos of the car for over a year. He let me
“And you,” Hawke said, with a smile of his own, “again.”
C HAPTER F OURTEEN
H e didn’t see her again for a few days.
He told himself he had to stop missing her; they’d only just met, for God’s sake. Besides, he was too busy for romance. He and Ambrose spent every waking moment working the case, interviewing bankers and cybersecurity experts—not to mention Walter Heitz, the crusty old detective from the Stadtspolizei who was lead investigator on the case of the missing banker, Leo Hermann.
Everyone they knew, it seemed, was involved. Everyone except the one man they really wanted to talk to—the young Swiss Army grenadier who had actually found the body. Unfortunately, he was in St. Moritz at the moment. Wolfie’s Tenth Mountain Division had relocated to the mountains there for even more intensive alpine training. Extreme pursuit skiing under fire and X-treme parasail combat tactics.
I t was a brilliant morning, the skies shot through with blue; Lake Zurich was peacefully lapping the shore, while the town’s rooftops and church spires were cloaked in a brand-new mantle of purest white.
Hawke eased the silver Aston out of late-morning traffic and rolled to a stop in front of the Zurich Opera House to collect his waiting passenger.
“Hop in,” he said.
“Where’s Ambrose?” Sigrid asked, peering into the car as she climbed inside. Settling into the leather bucket seat, she said, “What in the world have you done with Ambrose, Alex Hawke?”
“He decided it would be too crowded up here for the three of us, so I put him in the back. Fasten your seat belt.”
Sigrid craned her head around. “The back? What back?”
“Ah, yes. I put him in the trunk. He’s fine.”
“What do you mean he’s fine ?”
“I gave him a warm blanket and a thermos full of steaming coffee. It’s only a couple of hours to Geneva. He’ll be fine, don’t worry about him. He can bang on the lid of the trunk if he needs anything. Don’t worry about him, he’s used to it.”
Sigrid punched him in the shoulder, hard. “Do not speak to me as if I had a blond brain, Mr. Hawke!”
Hawke smiled at her and engaged first gear. They slipped into light traffic circling around the Opera House. He’d invited Sigrid to join him at a daylong conference in Geneva.
Fritz Schultz was the keynote speaker. Blinky’s lecture, “Cybersecurity 2015,” was obviously of interest to her, and Hawke had offered to drive her there. They would be driving along Lake Zurich for a while, which was always a scenic delight. Their destination, the Hotel de la Paix, was just outside Geneva, less than two hours away.
“Alex, stop. Where is Ambrose? You told me he was coming with us.”
“Actually? He’s conferring with the Stadtspolizei this morning. Apparently no identification was found on the body, which is interesting in and of itself. Ambrose is looking into the clothing bought in London now. The Savile Row suit he wore, the Lobb shoes. Seeing what purchase records exist.”
“Got it, that’s all very good. So. What kind of car is this anyway, Alex?”
“Aston Martin,” Hawke said, reaching across her to tighten her seat belt. He’d already noticed the pleasing effects of a tight cashmere sweater on her figure; now, her short skirt had ridden high on her tanned thighs. Hawke made a supreme effort to tear his eyes away before he made a fool of himself.
She said, “I don’t even like cars. But this one is stunning. Is it new?”
“It’s not. 1964, actually. A DB5. A perfect example.”
“Ah, a DB5, of course. I knew that.”
Sigrid looked at Hawke after a few minutes and said, “Is this really your car, Alex? It looks and smells frightfully expensive. You didn’t steal it, did you?”
“I thought about it. But my moral instincts won out and I bought it this morning. From a private owner in Zurich, a fanatic James Bond fan. He has been e-mailing photos of the car for over a year. He let me
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