Taken For A Ride

By Thomas Harrington

Richard Boyd and Charles Coulson plan to kidnap the President of the German Federal Bank from his hotel in Basel, Switzerland. All they have to do is separate Dr. Franz Rudolph from his guards, evade police in several countries, convince the Germans to pay a ransom, cover their tracks, and disappear...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Harrington
• Release date: Sep 26, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452392530

Thomas Harrington

Prior to writing novels, the author enjoyed a multifaceted career: from decorated combat aviator to global communications director of a major consumer brand. He has traveled the world and met sports, film and television stars, political leaders, and royalty. He graduated from Middlebury College, is married, lives in Germany, and has two grown children.

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Taken For A Ride

By

Thomas Harrington

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Copyright 2010 by Thomas S. Harrington

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Taken For A Ride

Chapter 1

Franz Rudolph considered himself to be an honest man and, when he thought about such things, hoped others judged him to be just that. When he dealt in numbers, anyone could check his position; in other matters, his credibility had to suffice. If ever asked, he could swear to having never swindled anyone. He expected the same treatment in return and tried to take anyone at his or her word. No one dared to cross him: some out of admiration, some out of respect for his position, but most because they were lesser men.

Doktor Franz Rudolph was President and Chairman of the Board of the German Federal Bank—Die Bundesbank. That made him one of the most powerful men in Germany and placed him close to the Chancellor on the list of potential terrorist targets. Maybe he was even ahead of a mere politician. In Germany, he lived in constant fear of being kidnapped or killed. Friends and colleagues, such as Schleyer and Herrhausen, had suffered such a fate. Alfred had even been blown up close to home, despite armored Mercedes and being surrounded by guards.

People in Germany said that Rudolph looked like a banker, surely because those people knew who he was. In fact, his size, facial features, and demeanor were rather average. In a crowd or without a suit, no one would suspect that he was special. But he was, and that explained where he was eating breakfast and why.

Franz Rudolph enjoyed breakfast in the restaurant of the Basel Hilton. For some reason, he liked this hotel. Basel was not his favorite city—far from it—and the Hilton was not the best hotel he had used. Nevertheless, both were uncomplicated. He could relax in this city and in this hotel. He could even pretend that he was a normal person and ignore the quasi-celebrity status his job imposed. In almost any other place, he was a target—a word other people used. He tried without success to remember this fact, because security personnel used the word only in training sessions…which had become less-frequent. Like a cruise ship passenger, who tries to ignore life boats and warning signs, he floated through Switzerland with few cares about his safety.

On business trips, he preferred to eat breakfast alone. He hated working breakfasts and tried to avoid them, even in New York or Washington. Of course, that was not easy, because Americans loved working anything—breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Even on weekends. He did not enjoy working and eating concurrently, because that was not the German way. Work was work, and meals were meals. Of course, you could discuss things at lunch and, occasionally, at the dinner table, but that was not the main purpose of these events. The French understood. And, the Italians. Well, most Europeans...except maybe the Swedes. And, of course, the British, who did not think of themselves as European and tended to look down their noses at any behavior other than their own. Then again, Brits liked to copy Americans, even if they violently disagreed when challenged or caught.

Breakfast was sacred for Franz Rudolph. Although he had been known to share a table with like-minded individuals, he preferred to be alone. This early hour was not a time for business or any other topic of discussion. Breakfast was a period of calm before the storm of the day’s activities. He needed to warm up his engine, before he entered the race...but only at idle.

Without lowering his newspaper, Rudolph glanced towards a table near the entrance. His two permanent bodyguards concentrated on their meal. He was amazed at the amount of food those two consumed—at government expense. They accompanied him everywhere, even on his free time. In Germany, as many as five shadowed his every move. What a pain, he thought. He disliked being forced to spend time with such people. And, in such close quarters. Away from home or the bank, he could not even visit the toilet unaccompanied. But, Switzerland was different. Here—according to them—two were enough. He felt certain that he would be safe on his own, but did not have the luxury of making that decision.

He recalled his disparaging thoughts about the United States and decided that the country did have some redeeming features. Bankers were not shot or blown up. Eating habits might be appalling, but he could travel most places without a protective entourage. He was unknown, and he relished his anonymity. Unfortunately, he spent most of his time in Germany...where he was a target…or so he had been told.

Besides the threat of terrorists, the job had become increasingly difficult. Three years had passed, since the Berlin Wall had fallen and the Soviet Union had collapsed. West Germany had taken on the burden of financing the integration of East Germany. Since his country was the motor of the European economy, chaos to the east caused concern about potential damage to the global financial system. Fortunately, he was not responsible for former Soviet satellites, which must fend for themselves. Um Gottes Willen, he thought: Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Ukraine, and so on. Germany was powerful—and guilt-ridden—enough to take in its impoverished relative; the rest would have to sink or swim on their own. On top of all that, the plan to create a European Central Bank and a single currency for member countries was progressing. That would deeply involve him and affect his job. Too much...

In Basel, Franz Rudolph rarely worried. For that matter, he felt safe anywhere in Switzerland. As soon as he crossed the Rhine, he would relax. This was a civilized country, and the average citizen did not know him. Guards might shadow him, but what could happen here? He considered the two men at the nearby table and wished he could send them home. Unfortunately, they had their job, which did not end at the border. They even travelled with him to America: that was worse. He was not sure what embarrassed and irritated him most: if they spoke German or attempted to speak English. He often had to act as interpreter.

In the Basel Hilton, he could relax and enjoy his breakfast. Later, the stroll to the Bank of International Settlements for his meeting would provide exercise and fresh air. He could pretend that life was like it used to be. Then, the head of the central bank had been merely another faceless bureaucrat, and terrorists had not killed bankers and businessmen.

One of the pleasures of breakfast alone was the peace and quiet to read morning newspapers. He was not compelled to make conversation, to discuss business, or to speak at all. This morning, he found nothing of earth-shaking importance in the FAZ or the Neue Zürcher. The Dow had closed slightly higher, and the DAX remained unchanged. But, of course, he knew that. Every night before going to bed, he checked the numbers on BBC, MSNBC, CNN, and serious German stations. He checked again before breakfast. Today, nothing had been reported, which needed action by people holding the strings of the world economy. If action had been required, he would have taken his breakfast in the room and worked the phone. As it stood, he could look forward to another day of routine discussions with the Swiss, French, and British. Afterwards, he would ride the train to Frankfurt. The day should be an easy one.

More coffee, sir?

Rudolph glanced at his watch, before answering the young waitress. The time was twenty to eight. His meeting was at nine.

He smiled at the girl. Despite his high position, he was gracious to those at a lower station in life. Good manners required that.

Yes, please.

He would have more coffee and scan the political news. Most bored him, but his job required him to know which way the wind was blowing in the capital. Fortunately, the Central Bank did not answer to the politicians. Nevertheless, one had to know what was happening, because he still had to talk to those fools. He must know what they were saying to each other and to the public, as well as what they were saying behind peoples’ backs. Of course, most of the time they thought only about how they could stay in office, not what was best for the country or its citizens. But, that was the way of politicians everywhere. Why should Germany be any different? At least bankers were different. Yes, his world was rationale. Numbers did not lie. Everything was ordered. Well, everything except the security part. And, possibly, currency traders...

Rudolph looked up from his coffee and considered again the two guards. Even from the distance, their poor table manners were evident. And, each read the Bildzeitung...such a low class paper. How anyone could read such trash, he wondered? He wanted to have guards that read books and could carry on an intelligent conversation. Maybe such people did not take the job of bodyguard. Well, at least not in Germany. Maybe in America, where unemployed PhDs took whatever job they could find.

Gerhard Krippner and Michael Lutz had been members of the German military’s elite GS-G9 commando troop. Or so he had been told. One of them—Rudolph could not remember which, but thought that it must be the older one—was rumored to have been at Mogadishu. He supposed that he should be impressed or thankful or more confident. But, he was not. He was bored with it all. And, it upset him to have such people shadow him. He even had to eat in the same restaurant. Well, bodyguards went with the job, and he liked his job. He was a professional, so he would put up with minor irritations and not let dissatisfaction show.

After signing for his meal, Rudolph approached his guards. Engrossed in the sports pages of their newspapers, they had failed to notice him leave his table and approach. Great guards, he thought. He would be overly polite to show his displeasure.

"Excuse me, gentlemen."

The older one, Krippner, dropped his paper on the table, but did not stand up. He looked inquisitively at Rudolph. The junior guard merely lowered his paper and smiled.

Rudolph frowned.

Oh, sorry, sir, said Krippner.

Please meet me in reception at 8:45.

Yes sir. We’ll be waiting.

Hopefully, Rudolph grumbled.

He turned and left abruptly. He had nothing else to say and, in this instance, did not feel obliged to be polite. He checked his watch: the time was not quite eight. Hopefully, he could reach his room in time to watch the news and weather on the German station. The program would surely repeat the earlier report, but he usually watched the news more than once every morning. That was another benefit of Switzerland—German television was available.

After he pushed the elevator button, Rudolph stared at the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that another guest had followed him from the restaurant. The man waited nearby for the elevator. Rudolph was not concerned, because this was routine behavior for breakfast guests in any hotel. Impatient, he looked again at his watch. The time was 7:59. Would he reach his room in time to see the news?

*

Gerhard Krippner watched Doctor Rudolph leave the restaurant. He returned to his paper and ignored other guests leaving the restaurant: all men in suits. His job was easy in this hotel, he thought.

He stared at the newspaper, but considered his situation. He was happy to be working for such a man. Although he was only a government civil servant assigned to protect him, he liked to tell people that he worked for the president of the Bundesbank. The best part of the job and the best perk for protecting high government officials was staying at expensive hotels. On vacation, he could afford only cheap hotels or pensions, so he appreciated the difference. Now, he could pretend that he was somebody: a businessman in a hotel restaurant. Who knew that he was a mere civil servant...or more like a glorified watchman? How could they tell? He wore a dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. Sure, the suit had cost only DM150 at a factory outlet and was not one of the Italian jobs—the kind the old man wore—which cost a thousand or more. He had ogled clothes in shop windows on the Goethestrasse in Frankfurt, along with other items he would be unable to afford. Rudolph probably earned twenty times more than his salary. At least he made more than Lutz. He had seniority, and he looked the part. Lutz, who wore grey slacks and a blazer, did not even try to resemble a businessman. Krippner could not understand how the Powers-That-Be could put a young, inexperienced man on this important assignment. He might have been in the GS-G9, and they trained together...but could he be trusted if anything happened?

Today would present no problems: they were in Switzerland. Two guards would be enough, compared to four or five at home. No stress. They had enough of that on most days. Sure, the Red Army was gone, but plenty of nut cases thrived in Germany. You could never relax, especially since the Wall came down. Criminals from the East had no barrier to entry. The country was no longer safe. Fortunately, nothing ever happened here. They could relax and enjoy the trip.

Best of all, the old man could go up to his room by himself. They could enjoy a leisurely breakfast and did not have to rush away from the meal, before they had finished. The price of the room was ridiculous, but was allowed by the travel policy. And, no one seemed to notice or even care how many times he went to the buffet. Krippner liked Switzerland. No worries. No sweat.

A night at this hotel was all the more pleasurable, because Rudolph stayed alone. Others in his party used other hotels, because he wanted to separate work from off-time. He did not mix socially with junior members. This pleased Krippner, because he hated all of them: young bankers. What did they have, which he did not have? Luck. Of course, each had graduated from university—studiert—or had been born into a good family or had connections. Germany was almost as class-ridden as England, only more subtle. But, he could be near Dr. Rudolph always, which made the young jerks jealous.

The only problem was that he had to share a room with Lutz, which made it impossible to watch adult movies. He did not want the younger man to think that he was a pervert. They joked about the availability, but neither wanted to admit interest in such trash. Why couldn’t they have single rooms? The government wasted money on less-important things.

Why was the Old Man so grouchy? Lutz asked.

Krippner had noticed Dr. Rudolph’s annoyance, when they had finally realized his presence at their table. The short conversation had included no rebuke, so he assumed the man’s aggravation had another source. Besides, he was more concerned about how to twist the travel policy to obtain a single room, so he could enjoy movies.

Not any different than always, Krippner replied, with a shrug.

He looked at his watch.

You want to use the bathroom first or second?

You go first, Lutz answered. I’m still reading about the Champions’ League.

Lutz was an avid soccer fan. He believed every word written about the sport. Krippner found most articles to be shallow and repetitive. Besides, the sport bored him; he preferred boxing.

You have to sign the check.

Does it matter? Lutz replied, making a face.

Their government expense account would pay, so he was not giving anything away. Krippner stood up to leave. Out of habit, he surveyed the other guests. The usual crowd of businessmen and bankers, in ones and twos, concentrated on their food, coffee cups, or newspapers. No one looked out of the ordinary or suspicious. Not in this hotel...

Don’t forget the time, Krippner said. We gotta be in the lobby at quarter to. It’s five past now.

Yeah, yeah.

Lutz did not look up from the paper. He had never been late, but Krippner still treated him like a child.

*

Richard Boyd and Charles Coulson were in Basel on business...to meet a banker. They had arrived in the Hilton restaurant separately at around seven fifteen, with Coulson being first. Upon entering, each had scanned the room, like any patron deciding where to sit. Each had noticed where Dr. Franz Rudolph sat. And, they had no difficulty to identify his guards: two men in mediocre clothing engrossed in the German Bildzeitung. They chose separate tables, side-by-side, against the far wall and ignored each other.

Both men ordered a continental breakfast, with Boyd choosing coffee and Coulson tea. Each had a Swiss newspaper, which they pretended to read, while they waited for beverages to arrive. If anyone noticed, they would see two men interested in their newspapers and not in anyone else. This was normal behavior for people that travelled on business. Dr. Rudolph would understand.

After a trip to the buffet, both had eaten quickly. They remained at their tables and returned to their papers. They could be killing time until meetings started. If anyone bothered, they might guess that it would probably begin at nine. A signboard in the lobby had indicated a Sandoz meeting at that time in a hotel conference room. They could be sales representatives.

Occasionally, Boyd’s eyes wandered from the newspaper to the surrounding room. He might wait for someone to arrive. He uttered no word to man at the adjacent table or even acknowledge his existence, behavior similar to Dr. Rudolph’s.

Get ready, Boyd whispered, his lips motionless.

He had noticed Dr. Rudolph sign his check.

Coulson, the man at the adjacent table, put down his paper and took a last sip from his cup. He touched a napkin to his lips and then put it on the table beside his plate.

Go, Boyd whispered from behind his newspaper.

Coulson slid his chair back and stood up. He surveyed the room and then pushed the chair under the table. He ambled towards the door. When he noticed Rudolph stop his guards’ table, Coulson became interested in the buffet. He paused, perhaps, to examine what he had missed by taking the continental breakfast.

When Rudolph left the restaurant, Coulson was a few paces from the door. He turned his head to avoid a glance at the two men Rudolph had addressed, but both were too engrossed in newspapers to notice.

As soon as his colleague left the restaurant, Boyd signaled the waiter for the check.

Will you charge that to your room, sir? the waiter asked.

No, I’ll pay cash, Boyd said, smiling. I’m only here for a meeting.

Even though he did not have a meeting, he doubted that the waiter would check. Non-guests frequently used the restaurant. The guy’s only interest was that guests paid and left an occasional tip. Americans were the best customers: they added 15% to the gratuity included the prices. Cash, credit cards, or charge to the room was all that mattered. Boyd glanced at his watch: eight o’clock.

After leaving money to cover the cost and small change—too small or too large would stick in the waiter’s memory—Boyd left the restaurant. As he passed their table, he noticed Krippner and Lutz discuss something. They ignored him.

Outside the restaurant, Boyd glanced towards the elevator. No one waited. He took a seat in the lower lobby and confirmed his mobile phone had network reception, which he had checked the previous evening after a drink in the bar. He lowered the volume, so only he would hear the ring. Then he pretended to read a newspaper.

*

Dr. Franz Rudolph had entered the elevator as soon as he determined that no one was inside. He was not used to deferring to others...except women, of course. The person behind