CHAPTER 41
Erik von Weissenstein's office suite at the headquarters of InterBanking AG was high-ceilinged, spacious, luxuriously furnished and secluded. No one, besides his closest staff, could get to him without an appointment. His office suite was also his retreat. There, he enjoyed absolute privacy in the midst of a hectic world of finance and politics that demanded his presence and attention.
But, today, his bank's business was far from his mind. He now sat at his desk, watching a video of that morning's street killings, culled by Eggli's people from the local news programmes and the Internet. A scowl etched his face, his fingers drummed a staccato on the desk top. He watched it over and over. And still he couldn't believe it.
"That man was born with the luck of the gods," he growle
