Passion [antikvár]

Prologue Dimitri síid the photograph across the desk. They were on the fourth floor of a nondescript office building. Outside, rush-hour traffic was just starting to build up on the Königstrasse. He had already been at work for four hours. The hunt had started. The first/ His operative took the picture, studied it for a second. The subject smiled, glossily handsome. He wore an expensive white-tie suit. The woman by his side was a brunette, rail-thin, in red satin. Several other dinner guests were glancing their way. He was the centre of attention, pleased with himself. He had a lot of money, a lot of power. He'd be dead soon. 'Not a problem.' 'Another.' He passed a second over. 'You probably