Frank Schätzing - Limit

‘I understand,’ he growled.

And he actually did understand. The phenomenon of being tongue-tied even when you wanted to speak was one that he was all too familiar with. He silently looked at his fingers, which were cracked, the nails jagged, the cuticles ragged. They were not attractive. He was clean, but not well looked after. Joanna had said that. For a long time he hadn’t been able to tell the difference, but at that moment he wouldn’t have been able to shake hands with himself. He neglected himself. Yoyo didn’t love herself, and the same went for Chen, and, to a startling extent, for Tu, the rock on which all egocentricity was founded. Were there any heads left in which the past wasn’t mouldering away?

Jennifer came into the room.

‘I heard you don’t feel like talking any more.’

‘Wrong.’ Yoyo rubbed her eyes. ‘We just don’t like people who don’t know our history sticking their great fat noses into it.’

‘SIS has finished stock-taking.’ Jennifer handed out thin piles of paper. ‘You’re credible, all three of you.’

‘Oh, thanks.’

‘Actually you could join your friend Tian. I’m very grateful to you, seriously!’ Her blue-green eyes said precisely that, and a tiny bit more.

‘But?’

‘I’d be even more grateful to you if you’d go on supporting our investigation.’

‘We’re happy to if you’ll let us,’ said Jericho.

‘Then I assume that’s resolved to our mutual satisfaction.’ Jennifer sat down. ‘You’re familiar with the coded message, you have been able to speculate in greater detail than we have about its missing parts, you have had contact with Kenny Xin, you know about Beijing’s involvement in African coups d’état, Korean mini-nukes, a conspiracy operating past all state institutions – would you like to hear something you don’t already know, for a change? Does the name Gerald Palstein mean anything to you?’

‘Palstein.’ Jericho scoured his memory. ‘Never heard of him.’

‘A chess piece. A rook, more of a queen, moved by circumstances. Palstein is the Strategic Planner for EMCO.’

‘EMCO the oil giant?’

‘The collapsing oil giant. Formerly number one among the companies following conservative paths that are currently perishing from an overdose of helium-3. Palstein’s task was supposed to be to save EMCO, and instead he has little more to do than cancel plans for exploration, close down one subsidiary after another and consign whole tribes to unemployment. In political terms not much is happening. It’s all the more remarkable that Palstein won’t admit defeat. In opposition to the senior board members, he took an interest in alternative energies years ago, and particularly in us. He would have liked to join us, but at the time EMCO thought we were working on things like time travel and teleporting. They didn’t take the whole business, helium-3, the space lift and so on, seriously, and when the reality of what we were doing finally kicked in no one took them seriously. But Palstein seems quite determined to win the battle.’

‘Sounds like Don Quixote?’

‘That would be to underestimate him. He isn’t one to tilt at windmills. Palstein knows that helium-3 is unbeatable, so he wants into the business. The only possible way is through us, and EMCO isn’t exactly broke yet. But a lot of people would rather see the remaining millions being put into protection for the workers. Palstein, on the other hand, maintains that the best protection is the continuing existence of the company, and says the money should be put into maintenance projects. Maybe that’s what earned him the rifle bullet.’

‘Just a moment.’ Jericho paused. ‘There was something about this on the web. An assassination attempt on an oil manager, that’s right! Last month in Canada. Nearly got him.’

‘It did get him, but fortunately only in the shoulder. A few days previously he and Julian negotiated EMCO participation in Orley Space. By that time it was already fixed that Palstein should go to the Moon for the unofficial opening of Gaia. He’d secured himself a place years ago, but with a gunshot wound, with your arm in a sling, you don’t fly to the Moon.’

‘I get it. Carl Hanna went instead. The guy that Orley suspects. The one you set Norrington on.’

Jennifer’s fingers slid over the tabletop. A man’s face appeared on the screen, angular, with heavy eyebrows, his beard and hair shorn almost to the skin.

‘Carl Hanna. A Canadian investor. At least that’s what he claims to be. Of course Norrington checked him out when they were assembling the group. Now, you don’t need to put people like Mukesh Nair and Oleg Rogachev under the microscope—’

‘Rogachev,’ Yoyo echoed.

Jennifer Shaw looked at the stack of printed pages. ‘I’ve put together a list for you, of the guests that Julian’s travelling with. You might be more familiar with some of the others. Finn O’Keefe, for example—’

‘The actor?’ Yoyo’s eyes sparkled. ‘Of course.’

‘Or Evelyn Chambers. Everybody knows America’s talk-show queen. Miranda Winter, always involved in some kind of scandal, darling of the tabloids; but the real money is with the investors. Most of them are well-known figures, but Hanna seemed like a blank page. A diplomat’s son, born in New Delhi, moved to Canada, studied Economics in Vancouver, Bachelor of Arts and Science. Entered the stock market and investment business, repeated stays in India. Worth an estimated fifteen billion dollars, after he inherited a lot of money and invested the money cleverly, in oil and gas, by the way, before switching to alternative energies at the right time. Remains involved in Warren Locatelli’s Lightyears, Marc Edwards’ Quantime Inc. and a number of other companies. By his own account he considered investing in helium-3 before, but he thought it was too much of a fly-by-night proposition at first.’

‘Although that’s changed, as we know.’

‘As have the indicators for an investment. A year and a half ago, at a sailing tournament organised by Locatelli, he met Julian and Lynn, Julian’s daughter. They liked each other, but what was crucial was that Hanna thought out loud about sponsoring India’s space programme because of his old associations with the place. The bait, you might say, that landed Julian like a big fat cod. The group going to the Moon had already been decided, so Julian offered him a trip for the following year.’ Jennifer paused. ‘You’re an experienced investigator, Owen. How much of Carl Hanna’s CV could be faked?’

‘All of it,’ said Jericho.

‘His business interests have been confirmed.’

‘Since when?’

‘Hanna joined Lightyears two years ago.’

‘Two years is nothing. Long periods abroad, possibly born abroad, standard spy stuff. In the emerging countries all our investigations trickle away, nobody’s surprised when birth certificates disappear. Sloppy work by local authorities is the order of the day. Second, investor. A disguise par excellence. Money has no personality, leaves no lasting impression. No one can prove who’s really invested or since when. With a bit of preparation you could pull something out of a hat and everyone will swear it’s a rabbit. Do you know him personally?’

‘Yep. Pleasant enough. Attentive, friendly, not exactly chatty. Bit of a loner.’

‘Hobbies? Bound to be something solitary.’

‘He dives.’

‘Diving. Mountain-climbing. Typical interests of private investigators and secret agents. You hardly need witnesses for either.’

‘Plays guitar.’

‘That fits. An instrument evokes the appearance of authenticity and creates sym pathy.’ Jericho rested his chin on his hands. ‘And now you think Palstein had to be sacrificed to make room for Hanna.’