Norman Steel sat on the tarmac in Berlin, having just landed following his tour of the Tri-Mar facilities in Boston, Miami, Houston, Atlanta, Chicago, Denver and Los Angeles. He was worn out. His cell rang.
“Steel here.”
“A meeting is required.” The man spoke English with a slight Asian accent.
“When?”
“Immediately.”
Norman Steel, aboard Tri-Mar One, took off in snowy condi-tions at Berlin-Tegel Airport. Tegel is also referred to as The Frequent Flyer Airport. Its octagonal shape allows passengers to walk as little as thirty meters from aircraft to terminal exit. Last year Tegel, the largest of the three airports in Berlin, served over thirteen million passengers.
Tri-Mar One, a Learjet 85, is the latest aircraft by manufac-turer Bombardier Aerospace and is scheduled for unveiling in October of this year to celebrate Learjet’s first flight, forty-five years ago. Norman, never one to wait, purchased the prototype almost a year ago. With a cruising speed of Mach 0.82, the clean-sheet Learjet is capable of making Trans-Continental flights, having a range of 3,000 nautical miles. Tri-Mar One was equipped with a queen-sized bed, but Norman had been looking forward to a night’s sleep in his own bed, on the ground.

Zurich Switzerland was experiencing unseasonably cold weather for an August, as was Berlin, but the skies were clear and crisp here. The black Mercedes limousine moved past Zurich Bahnhoft train station, one of the busiest in the world, connecting Switzerland to Spain, France, Italy, Austria and Germany. When he was not in such a hurry Norman took the train. Then he was always in a hurry lately.
The Mercedes snaked along past placid Lake Zurich and up into the white blanketed mountains to Lucerne.
Norman Steel slid apart the two panes of bulletproof glass. “Charles, please pull over at the bridge.” He could have used the intercom, but then he would feel like he needed the bulletproof glass.
It had been forty years since Norman had walked across Lake Lucerne. Forty years since he walked with his wife across the centuries old wooden bridge with the wood planked roof. Norman Steel was oblivious to the bitter north wind blowing directly at him from across Lake Lucerne.
He stood on the footbridge, Chapel Bridge, the oldest wooden bridge in Europe and the most photographed structure in all of Switzerland. Built in 1333, it was an added defensive measure against would be attackers. Attached to the underside of the roof of Chapel Bridge are a series of paintings from the 17th Century depicting the history of Lucerne. At six hundred and seventy feet long, it spans the River Reuss at the heart of the city, connecting to the Wasserturm or Water Tower, an octagonal brick structure standing one hundred forty feet tall. In its day, it had served as the treasury, prison and torture chamber.
Today it forms part of the city wall. This was Norman and his wife’s favorite place or it had been forty years ago. There were one hundred ten paintings before the fire in 1993 that destroyed two thirds of the wooden bridge. The pillars, bridgeheads and the Wasserturm were not destroyed. Only twenty-five of the paintings dating back to 1611 survived the fire.
Norman was not thinking about the bridge or looking at the paintings.
“Why? Why? Why?” Norman said angrily as he stopped half way across the lake. Why had she died? Why had she been killed? The same question, year after year after year.
It could have been anyone of dozens of people, then. Those were the days when Norman Steel had been Helmet Steiner, a dealer in people’s addictions. Heroin, cocaine and opium, were the commodities Norman used to trade in. Today it was stocks and bonds and buyouts, and in the light of day, not in a dark alley with a pistol in your pocket. Computers were wonderful things.
Norman had screwed too many to count, and killed a few. When his wife was killed, the police had said it was a robbery. Norman had put the word on the street that he would pay a million dollars for the right information. There were no takers. Still, for two years Norman followed every lead, checked out everyone he had ever dealt with and found nothing. Were the cops right? Had some son of a bitch killed his wife for a few lousy Deutsche Marks while robbing a convenience store?
Chapel Bridge had little foot traffic at six in the morning. A young couple bundled up in the frigid cold did walk past him, both seeing only each other. Norman looked at his watch. Time to go. He started to turn back, but another memory interfered and he continued across Lake Lucerne to the walk and various shops on the other side. Norman Steel saw what had stirred his memory. He had bought, stolen and sold drugs, the stealers of life, but he had not partaken of the goods. He did not abuse alcohol either, though a good scotch or Cognac would do on occasion. Norman saw the dark chocolate colored sign, shaped like a truffle with white chocolate letters.
Schokolade, Ob Dusich
Chocolate, If You Dare.
This early in the morning, there were no addicts in a cue, wait-ing for their prescription of chocolate and the proprietor trading his ecstasies for their Euros. Norman slid his right hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. It was there, it always was, a hold over from the old days. Norman sat on the wrought iron bench near the front door and pretended to read the Neue Luzerner Zeitung, while he eyed the lock on the door. It was a Yale. Norman chuckled. Oh how he loved it, missed it. He still missed the street after all these years in the Ivory Tower.
The lock, a Yale circa nineteen sixty, was a good lock to keep the half-hearted out, but worthless against a real thief. Norman folded the newspaper calmly and moved to the alcove of the front door. He had removed the correct pick already. Just for affect, Norman put the paper under his arm and reached into his pocket to retrieve his key just as the proprietor would do. There were shops on the other side of the lake too. One thing he knew about people, they always look. Naked lady or headless corpse, they always look.
Like riding a bike, Norman thought as he felt the correct pin slide and the latch retract. In a moment, he was in. Norman really did not believe white chocolate was chocolate, so he passed by that display case. There it was, dark and semi-sweet. A truffle like a cloud as it dissolved in your mouth. Norman moved around the counter and removed the truffle. He placed it on his tongue and closed his mouth. He felt the chocolate vaporize and slowly dissolve until it was gone. No chewing or swallowing, the taste buds extracting the flavor until it was no longer there.
Norman removed two more truffles from the glass case and put them in the stay fresh bag and then in the pocket of his mohair overcoat. Then he left the Chocolate Shop as inconspicu-ously as he had entered.

Tap, tap, tap. Norman’s driver, Charles Ingram, turned to his side window, shocked to see Herr Steel!
Where had he come from? Charles had just peered out that window. Charles lowered the window.
“Here, for you and Mary. When you two are alone.” Norman said and handed the chocolate truffles to Charles who looked at him wide eyed. Charles had worked for Herr Steel for thirty-five years. Driving his automobiles, piloting his boats and flying his planes, but he had never seen the face Norman Steel wore now.
“Thank you, Norman.”
“Enjoy Charles. Okay. Let’s roll.”

It was still a cloudless sky when Herr Steel’s car pulled onto the road that took him and thousands of others, mostly tourists, through Engelberg and up to Mt. Titlis, with its one of a kind revolving lift that took one to where the clouds go.
Charles Ingram veered left at the attendant’s direction. The thousands of tourists went in by the main entrance, after parking in the lot. Norman Steel would use the entrance the food and beverages came through and supplied the restaurant perched on the snow-capped peak above.
“Herr Steel, it is a pleasure to have you again.” Roget Klamer, the proprietor of the tourist attraction and excellent ski slopes said as he moved aside and let Herr Steel enter. Norman traversed the plastic crates of bottles, canned black and green olives and produce.
“Merci, Roget.” Norman said as he entered the elevator that would take them to the top level, one above the restaurant.
The meeting room was reserved, as was the entire third level, for Tri-Mar Consolidated, year round. Tri-Mar actually was a partner of Roget Klamer, though it was a hostile merger in Roget’s unspoken opinion. It had been a matter of forty nine percent, or nothing. Tri-Mar Consolidated bought the land, the mountain, Mt. Titlis. The improvements and there had been many over the thirty years, had been made by Roget and paid for by Roget Klamer. He had a lease, but he also had a new Landlord. A landlord with enough money to bleed Roget Klamer dry with injunctions, pleas for trial date extensions which would be granted and a myriad of other jurisprudence expenses. He had no choice but to align with the devil.
“The other attendee is present Herr Steel.” Roget informed dutifully as he ushered Norman through the single solid oak door.
“Good. Thank you, Roget.” Norman said dismissively and Roget did as he always did when Tri-Mar unexpectedly graced him with their presence. He disappeared.
Roget Klamer nodded and backed away from the door as the other member of Tri-Mar Consolidated entered the dimly lit room. There were only three keys to the room, one for Roget and the other two for Steel and his business partner. The lock was not a typical type. The keys unlocked the cylinder, but this cylinder, powered by a silicon chip, recorded what key and when that key was used. A special metallic coating was stamped onto each key that an infrared light inside the cylinder also read, comparing the stamp with the correct key-cuts in the actual key. This information was stored in a highly secure corporate database monitored by corporate employees at all times. The room had added security such as the hidden security cameras that monitored the house-keeper and any one else Roget allowed access for purposes of maintenance or repair. It was also wired with thermal, sound and motion sensors.
Roget had tried to find out just what Tri-Mar was when the take over occurred and found only that they were a lending institution of some sort and had holdings in several freight companies. Nothing unusual there. He had just began making inquiries, below ground, when a note arrived informing him that if he wanted to live to see the sunrise, he should forget he ever heard the name Tri-Mar Consolidated. Not ready to cross over that great divide, Roget Klamer did as he was told.
Grinning as he rode the elevator back to the lower level and the world where he was in control, Roget jotted a note in his Day-Timer. He had used his key to allow Herr Steel access to the meeting room, today. The other man had used his own key. Roget had managed to unlock the door for one of the two men every time they met. He had no idea why he did this, it was just a thought that had come to him, and who knew if it could be useful in the future.

A figure in shadow sat at the other end of the long oval shaped table. The room was dark. Incandescent lights threw the light straight down and did not wash the walls with their light. The mahogany raised panels that ran floor to ceiling, which was low, soaked up what light there was. There were no windows, but there was another door. One mahogany panel hid its location from everyone except Tri-Mar Consolidated. Roget Klamer was not even aware of its existence, it having had been installed while he was on holiday four years ago. The room had no amenities other than restroom facilities and liquid refreshment. The walls of the room held flat screens for displaying satellite images. A bank of computers sat against one wall.
Norman sat at the long side of the table with his back against the wall and facing the door that he had come through. “What is so important that we have to meet?”
“I am having a problem with our Japanese contact.” Che-Li Chang said. “He wants one dollar seventy-five cents. He says he will not accept one dollar fifty cents.”
The Japanese contact was Takao Industries, the single largest holder of The United States of America’s debt worldwide, at three trillion dollars.
There was only the faint hum of the air-conditioning heard now as the heat from their bodies triggered a sensor.
“And why does he believe he is entitled to one seventy-five?” Norman asked.
“He knows he holds the majority of the US debt. He believes we cannot achieve our goal without him.” Che-Li explained. The grin on his face was not detectable in the dimly lit room. He knew Steel would jump on this.
“It’s fucking blackmail is what it is! Who is Takao’s number one, his successor?” Norman demanded. Who the hell did that Jap think he was? Nobody was going to fuck up this deal, especially a Jap.
“His son, Jin Takao.”
Norman shook his head. It was too close to zero hour for this shit. He didn’t have time for this now. It would have to be dealt with quickly.
“And his son’s allegiance is with whom?” Norman asked.
“Surprisingly enough, he has none. He is a new age Japanese. He aligns himself, with himself.”
“And you are saying he would have no objection to his fa-ther’s murder and his own succession!” Norman said disbeliev-ingly.
Che-Li nodded. “I believe he would not. Jin has, shall we say certain grievances with his father concerning his mother, who has never been treated kindly by her husband, in Jin Takao’s opinion.”
“I see no problem here. Can you arrange it?”
“I can.”
“When?” Norman asked.
“Soon. Two days and it will be done.” Che-Li said confidently.
“Is there any more business we need to discuss?” Norman looked at his partner sternly. Norman flew all the way here for this. God if he could do it all again, there would be no Che-Li Chang. Four years ago, Norman knew he would need the US debt the Chinaman held and could acquire to pull off Operation WireWay.
“No.” Che-Li Chang said.
“Oh, one suggestion.” Norman said. “See that Jin Takao wit-nesses his father’s death. What befalls one who becomes greedy.”
“Of course.” Che-Li said with a hint of irritation in his voice.