42
Looking expensive, Ulric Adler stretched back in business class on his flight from Washington D.C. to Nuremberg. He intended to catch up on paperwork on the nine hour flight and prepare his speech to give at the convention he would be attending. He was a strikingly handsome man in his late forties. Some of his party had described him as the blond J.F.K.—charismatic, charming, witty and insightful, and Adler knew exactly how and when to play those cards.
He put in the code to spring open the locks of his briefcase and pulled out an envelope. Ensuring no one was in reading distance of his work, he opened the envelope and pulled out a dossier about the convention he was attending. He found the particular paper he was after; a strategy paper prepared for him by the CEO of The New Aryan Or
