Free Rules of Deception by Christopher Reich

shade too brisk. Lammers had, after all, been put on the watch list because of his involvement in the manufacture of large artillery pieces, including the “supergun” being made for Saddam Hussein. “Would it surprise you to learn that Mr. Lammers designed artillery pieces when he was younger?” he asked.
    “He was a brilliant man,” said Menz. “I imagine he had many interests he didn’t share with me. I can only state that as a firm, we’ve never had any involvement with weapons of any kind.” Her brow drew together. “Why? Do you think that it has something to do with his death?”
    “At this stage, anything is a possibility.”
    “I see.” Menz looked away and he could see that she was playing with the idea. Her expression softened. Covering her face, she stifled a sob. “Please, excuse me. Theo’s death has disturbed me terribly.”
    Von Daniken busied himself jotting down notes. He was no Inspector Maigret, but it seemed apparent that Michaela Menz was telling the truth. Or, at least, that if Lammers were involved in anything untoward, she didn’t know about it. He waited until the woman had calmed down, then asked, “Did Mr. Lammers travel much for his work?”
    Menz raised her head. “Travel? Good Lord, yes,” she said, wiping her eyes. “He was constantly on the road. Checking installations. Taking orders. Keeping up goodwill.”
    “And what countries did he visit primarily?”
    “Ninety percent of our sales are within Europe. He was always bouncing between Düsseldorf, Paris, Milan, and London. The industrial hubs, mostly.”
    “Ever get to the Middle East? Syria? Dubai?”
    “Never.”
    “No business with Israel or Egypt?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    “And who was responsible for booking his trips?”
    “He did, I imagine.”
    “Are you saying that Mr. Lammers didn’t have a secretary to make his reservations? Planes, hotels, rental cars…there’s so much that goes into planning a business trip these days.”
    “He wouldn’t hear of it. Theo was a hands-on manager. He booked his travel on the Internet.”
    Von Daniken scribbled the information on his pad. He didn’t buy the bit about his being a hands-on manager. Secretive was more like it. He didn’t want anyone looking over his shoulder when he booked his flights in the name of Jules Gaye or any other of his aliases. “Dr. Menz,” he asked with the promise of a smile. “Do you think I might see his office? It would help me get a better feel for him.”
    “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
    In fact, von Daniken was already exceeding his brief. There hadn’t been time to apply for a warrant. In the eyes of the law, he had no right to snoop around the establishment. “I want to do everything possible to catch the man who killed him,” he said, challenging her with his gaze. “Don’t you?”
    Michaela Menz rose from the desk and beckoned von Daniken to follow her. Lammers’s office was next door. The space was the same size as Menz’s, the furnishings equally spare. Von Daniken’s eye immediately caught on an intriguing object displayed on the credenza. The device was a half meter in height, made of some kind of translucent plastic and shaped like a V. “And this? Is it one of your products?” he asked.
    “It is an MAV,” said Dr. Menz. “A micro airborne vehicle.”
    “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the MAV. Menz nodded and he picked it up. The object weighed less than one kilogram. The wings were at once incredibly firm and strangely flexible. “Does it actually fly?”
    “Of course,” she responded, bristling as if insulted. “It has a range of fifty kilometers and can reach a top speed of over four hundred kilometers per hour.”
    “Impossible!” declaimed von Daniken, playing the part of the yokel. “And he built it here?”
    Menz nodded approvingly. “With his own hands in our R and D lab. This one’s the smallest he’s produced. He was quite proud of it.”
    Von Daniken memorized her