Downhill: Whatever It Takes

By Karlheinz Moll

A real estate developer with designs on a prime property on the hills of Kitzbühel gets shot skiing downhill and the stepson of a politician running for Senate is unexpectedly killed in the mountains of Arizona. A mysterious organization calling itself ´The Green Hand´ claims responsibility for both incidents.

BKA operative Alexander Granger and his colleague and girlfriend, Interpol agent Cynthia Yeow, are asked to support the investigation. Both are in Kitzbühel for a short skiing vacation taking a break from major cases.

Alexander is investigating a case of stolen guns and military equipment disappearing from a military compound in Afghanistan while Cynthia is looking into a wide-ranging case of human trafficking involving young women from Russia.

Alexander´s friend from Montana, Sam Caffey, had been hired by the politician´s stepson to find out something about the past. When Sam seems to have succeeded someone tries to kill him.

Alexander and Cynthia follow the trail of ´The Green Hand´ which leads them to Munich and London. Their path to identify those behind the murders is filled with death and tragedy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: tredition
• Release date: Dec 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9783749761258

Karlheinz Moll

Karlheinz Moll, geboren 1966 in Meckenbeuren, lebt und arbeitet primär in München. Hauptberuflich ist er als Unternehmensberater, Projekt Manager, Fachspezialist und Trainer in der Finanzwelt tätig. Mit seinem Abschluss als MBA für Finanzdienstleistungen der University of Wales blickt er auf 30 Jahre Erfahrung in der Finanzdienstleistungsbranche zurück. Er begann seine Tätigkeit als Autor in 2014 mit der Veröffentlichung von Sachbüchern. Sein erstes Buch ´FATCA – Wenn der Fiskus zweimal klingelt´ befasste sich mit dem amerikanischen Foreign Account Tax Compliance Act (FATCA) und einem Einblick in die U.S. Steuergesetze. Ein Jahr später folgte sein zweites Sachbuch ´Amerika – Land der unbegrenzten Gegensätze´. Während das Buch zu FATCA nur auf Deutsch verfügbar ist, wurde ´Amerika´ in 2016 auch auf Englisch veröffentlicht. 2017 schrieb Karlheinz Moll den ersten Band ´Ego Shooter – The Depth of the Pain´ zu einer Serie von internationalen Thrillern rund um den BKA-Agenten Alexander Granger. Ein Jahr später folgte mit ´The FAKE – Deadly Finances´ der zweite Band. In 2019 wurde ´Downhill – Whatever It Takes´ als dritter Band in der Serie veröffentlicht. Alle Bände der Serie sind auf Englisch erschienen. In 2020 verfasste er mit ´Espresso Morte´ seinen ersten deutschsprachigen Roman und in 2021 folgte mit ´Bitterroot – Trail of Death´ sein erster Western. Der nun vorliegende Roman ´Das Puzzle des Todes´ ist der erste einer Reihe von Krimis, die in der Heimatstadt des Autors angesiedelt sind.

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Prologue I

2 months ago – London, United Kingdom

He entered his town house when a message arrived on his smart phone.

His residence was located in a street filled with similar-looking upscale buildings. The main difference was that he actually called it his home and lived in it most of the time, unless he was traveling. The other buildings were mostly unoccupied at this time of the year.

Some of the wealthy owners, wealth being a mandatory pre-condition to afford luxury real estate like this in the first place, had given the homes to their adolescence off-spring to stay in during their semester at one of the many prestigious universities the United Kingdom has to offer. Parents who had no problem affording the astronomical tuition fees were expected to also have the funds to buy or at least to rent appropriate accommodation for their children. They also tended to provide a significant amount of cash for allowances to keep the youngsters financially afloat.

He belonged in this category even though the years of study and living on his father’s funds had long gone. His career path had made it convenient for him to stay in this part of the city.

The town house was spread across three floors, if the two-car garage and built-in tack room on the ground floor was considered a floor. The kitchen and living room were located on the second floor and one floor up was the master bedroom. The living room was plastered with photos from his years at the university, including pictures which showed him with his former buddies and members of the rowing team.

Many of his class mates back then had come from the upper echelons of British politics, business and the Royals but there were also sons of dictators from Africa, princes from the Arabian Peninsula and gangster bosses from Italy, quite often registered under a fake name. The fathers came from different countries, had different faiths, political affiliations and honored different values but there were two things they all had in common; money and power, one often leading to the other.

Over the years he had maintained friendships, some close, some casual, with many of them. They were from all backgrounds and he had nurtured them all, building the foundation of his vast network of people around the globe. He knew that his success depended on it.

It was past midnight and the end of yet another workladen day. Not that he needed to work. He wasn´t born with a silver spoon in his mouth, quite the contrary, but he had made it to the top of his class.

His father hadn´t been known for his fortune but for his connections in high places and his exclusive knowledge which was valuable if used to someone´s advantage, which he did. There was always enough money to provide the best education for his son even though others were paying the bills.

Today, the son was major player in his own right. He controlled vast portions of the imported seafood business from Russia and other countries of the former USSR. He obtained fish, caviar, lobster and anything else from the ocean and sold it at premium prices to upper class outlets in the swinging city. This was the legal side of his business but he also had other activities, much less legal but much more lucrative.

In the kitchen, he put down his briefcase and poured himself a cognac, his daily routine before looking in on his wife in the bedroom. She was asleep, had probably had been for hours. He sat down at the kitchen table and unlocked his smart phone. He briefly scanned the message he had received. It was written in cryptic language so he was the only one who could make sense out of it. No sender identification was provided and none was needed.

Besides a short explanation about the nature of the problem at hand the message also provided the name of the person he was supposed to take care of in the U.S. The name of the target took him by surprise and he figured that it would surely create headlines once done but the three letters at the end of the message left no doubt that the sender was serious. The last three letters would mean nothing to an innocent bystander, but he was neither a bystander nor would anybody who knew him well consider him innocent.

The end of the message simply said…WIT.

Prologue II

One year ago – Nice, France

American troops were accelerating their withdrawal from Afghanistan, the headline in the foreign section of ´Nice-Matin´ read.

The man sat outside in a café alongside the Marchéaux-Fleurs reading the paper while enjoying his second espresso, double and extra strong, the way he liked it. The warm Mediterranean temperatures at this time of year still allowed people to sit outside in shorts, shirt and a light sweater. Tourists and locals alike squeezed through the jammed aisles between the stalls which offered selections of local flowers, fruits, vegetables and cheese.

Every now and then someone stopped to take in the scent of the lavender soap or to taste the many variations of olives from the Provence soaked in oil and herbs. The man took little notice of his surroundings though. The article he was reading had captured all his attention.

The article highlighted the ongoing discussions between representatives of the United States and the Taliban about some level of cease-fire or peace, leaving out the Afghan government. He smiled thinking about the evolution of the relationship between the two former arch-enemies. Once hunted as terrorists harboring the masterminds responsible for the 9/11 attacks, they were now considered by the U.S. State Department as one way to reach an agreement to allow them to bring to an end this seemingly never-ending war. This would lead to the U.S. reducing its military presence in Afghanistan and to ´bringing the boys home´.

The article went on to say that the American public had long given up following events ´over there´ and a majority obviously weren´t even aware that the war was still raging on.

The man, whom everybody simply called ´Ben´, had Arabian features but dressed, spoke and behaved in a very western manner. He spoke seven languages, most of them fluently, and particularly favored French. He had lived so long on the French Riviera that he mingled well with the locals and was greeted by many whenever he walked through the old town of Nice.

It wasn´t the peace which seemed possible now in the rugged country far away, that made him smile, in fact, he couldn´t care less. He wasn´t a political person; he was a business man.

What made him happy was what he read between the lines in the article. A quick withdrawal of U.S. troops from Afghanistan would mean quick wins for him in some of his many business activities.

He had no office in Afghanistan, had no representatives and nobody had mentioned his name on the streets of Kabul or Kandahar, but he had a strong presence because of the special niche which he occupied.

His specialty was guns and military equipment. If there was one thing more profitable than buying and selling guns it was stealing and selling guns. Troop withdrawals from conflict regions and war zones allowed for a lot of stealing, particularly when U.S. troops were involved.

He remembered well the opportunities and the lucrative deals he had made when the U.S. military had partially or fully withdrawn from Somalia and Iraq. Now, the final withdrawal from Afghanistan was on the table and a side-effect opportunity of a military farewell was available again.

Guns, machines and tools, big and small, which needed repair or were beyond their operating lifetime were often considered not worth packing and shipping back to the home country. Instead, the equipment was sold off, given to local authorities or, particularly in the case of guns, destroyed. The latter played to the hand of the manufacturers who looked forward to the order books which would soon be filled again to replace anything left overseas. So much for the official policy, but there was also a big grey area in which the man called Ben operated.

Some of the guns intended for destruction disappeared mysteriously only to surface later on in the hands of insurgences, terrorists, militias or just plain thugs. Some of the equipment given to locals or considered abandoned ended up mysteriously in the hands of certain people, whom the military leadership, if they knew, would consider the wrong hands.

The military would be even more concerned if they suspected or knew that guns and ammunition destined and logged to be destroyed were ´redirected´ by Afghan contractors and crooked soldiers who believe that they deserved more than a meager military salary and a bleak outlook after leaving the army. The yellow bumper stickers to support the troops which people back home drove around with, even if well intended, didn´t pay for anything.

Since 2001 hundreds of thousands of so-called small arms, any gun below 30mm in caliber, were given to people in Afghanistan. These included assault and sniper rifles, pistols and revolvers as well as machine guns. A vast proportion of this materiel remained unaccounted for, having disappeared down channels unknown to most, except for men like Ben.

Ben not only knew what had happened to those guns, he also was the one brokering some of the deals to shift the arms from Afghan military facilities to the highest bidders among the warlords, the Taliban and criminal organizations operating in Pakistan.

The news about further U.S. troops leaving the country means more guns were there for the taking and selling.

He made a mental note of a few action items. He needed to make a few calls and to get some of his business associates in motion. Lucrative deals were waiting to be made.

Chapter 1

One week ago — Kitzbühel, Austria

It was the end of the season but a cold front two days ago had delivered a massive snow fall which had put at least three feet of new snow on top of the already well-prepared slopes. This was the perfect scenario for a few more days of sport and fun in one of the most popular ski resorts for the rich and famous.

Darkness still covered the mountains and early risers would have enjoyed the stillness in the cold air were it not for the machines already driving up and down to grade the slopes and get the gondolas and ski lifts ready for service.

The man was one of the first ones outside. He left his house, shouldered his board, and started walking up the hill towards to the top of a slope reserved exclusively for snowboarders. He looked up and thought to himself that the powder should be great today.

Kitzbühel had been his favorite winter spot for many years. The former village turned renowned ski resort of more than eight thousand people, which nestled between the ´Horn´ on one side and the ´Hahnenkamm´ on the other was the perfect winter escape for the upper class and wannabees. He had spent many winters in town together with his wife and two daughters, until his wife had left him for her golf teacher and took the girls with her. Ever since then he had come to Kitz, as it is locally known, alone. Although the house he owned had become way too big for just him, and he had not yet found a companion to stay more than just a few nights, he held on to the property. He managed to spend several weeks in the house each season, renting it out to people he knew during the summer months or letting a house-sitter take care of things. His trip this year was something special; this time he was not only traveling to this picturesque town for winter pleasure but also to advance an important business deal.

He always had to smile when the snowboard crowd started their trip up to the top for their first rides while he had already ridden downhill at least once. He also knew that they were smiling him when they saw him, a man of his age, dressed like a twentysomething. He had to chuckle about it too now and then, but then he felt a lot younger than he actually was and, if some of his female admirers were to be believed, also acted and looked a lot younger. At least that was true until recently, before the threats had started.

While he wandered through the snow, his thoughts drifted to the E-Mails he had received over the past few weeks. At first he had deleted them without giving it much thought as the mails read like spam messages. Only when the mails continued and the messages got more threatening, the last few ones threatened to physically harm him, even to kill him, did he take a closer look and consider the options he had.

The sender´s address of the E-Mails said something about a ´Green Hand´, but according to his search on the net, such an E-Mail address didn´t exist nor could he find any related website. In fact, there was no information about a ´Green Hand´ that he could find anywhere. He had realized that the E-Mail address was a fake when he´d created a new E-Mail account and had sent a mail to the green hand address. It came back instantly with the error message that the mail address did not exist. A few days ago he´d finally decided that he had had enough and that he would report the incident to the police as soon as he got back home.

On one hand, the messages were clear, he was accused of destroying the environment with his real estate business. On the other hand he had no idea what the writer of these messages really wanted from him, except for the demand to leave Kitzbühel. Did they want him to retire, to tear down buildings he had erected or to stop any new projects? He shook his head, confused about the whole thing.

Being the subject of attacks and threats wasn´t new to him. Properties he planned and built, particularly hotels and resorts, were often opposed by environmentalists who wanted to protect a few trees, owners of smaller nearby places, fearing the competition or people who just loved to oppose things.

Another hundred yards and he would be almost on top of the mountain, away from the ski lifts. He left the marked trail and walked into a treed area. A sign on one of the trees clearly stated that the territory was off limits, but the man ignored it and walked further into the woods until he reached an unprepared area, exactly where he wanted to be. He knew the spot very well. From here he could ride down on a slope perfect for free riders.

He was breathing heavily but the excitement of a downhill ride on his snowboard at dawn was worth all the effort for him. It was still dark except for the first glimpses of the rising sun were visible over the ridge of the mountain. From where he stood he had a perfect view down to the city of Kitzbühel as well as the Hahnenkamm on the other side of the valley. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the houses and hotels in the city as well as the private chalets and small cabins in the suburbs.

He could see the buildings of Aurach, a small town on the outskirts of Kitzbühel and almost as expensive. Next to his house, off the main road, he could also see the property with a large hilly pasture where cows grazed during summer time and, if his plans came to fruition, where something new would be built soon. To his left he noticed a few deer wandering through the snow, probably going to the feeding grounds close to the Aurach wildlife park.

What he didn´t notice was the fact that he wasn´t alone. There was another person about two hundred yards above him hiding behind a small group of trees. In fact, if the man had looked over his shoulder at any time during the past two days, he may have noticed that someone was following him around wherever he went, always close enough to not lose track but far enough behind to avoid detection.

The other person had started the journey at the same time, following the man discreetly. Like the first man, he was shouldering something while he walked up the hill, but it was neither a pair of skis nor a snowboard. Actually, he wasn´t carrying any sporting equipment, unless a high-powered sniper rifle was considered sports equipment.

This other person wore a military-style winter camouflaged skiing jacket and trousers, which merged almost perfectly with the surroundings. The person leaned against a tree and brought the gun into position searching for the first man in the cross-hairs of his sights.

The first man fixed on his snow boots, put on his helmet and protective glasses and started riding downhill. He was into his third curve when a bullet hit him like a sledgehammer throwing him off the board. The helmet he wore may have provide protection from falling on a rock but offered no protection at all from a bullet from a sniper rifle fired from a comparatively short distance.

The snowboard continued its trip downhill alone.

The sniper lowered the rifle, put it back into the gun cover, shouldered it, and walked the short distance towards to the dead man. He then knelt down and felt for a pulse, not that there was much need to looking at the huge hole in the helmet, but in the sniper´s profession taking chances wasn´t an option. He then stuffed a piece of paper in the mouth of the lifeless man, got up, and left.

Snow flurried in the face of the sniper on the way down. The weather forecast was accurate; it was beginning to snow and could go on for the whole day. Before the first skiers hit the slopes the sniper would be long gone and tracks left in the snow would be obliterated.

Chapter 2

The Present – Flagstaff, Arizona

This was probably one of the last undisturbed weekends he would have in a while, George Hess thought as he sat at the breakfast table in his small vacation home in Flagstaff. A long while, if things went as well as he intended, he mentally added. His wife joined him at the table, looking stunning as always in her see-through negligée, and he poured her a cup of coffee.

Flagstaff is located in the picturesque northern part of Arizona, nestling at the feet of the majestic San Francisco peaks, and had made its mark on the landscape in the mid-1850s when it became a campsite for the transcontinental railroad constructed between Albuquerque and the Pacific. Later it became an important city for the cattle industry in Northern Arizona as well as the ranching, lumber and mining industry. Today, with its more than 70,000 residents Flagstaff still is a major stopover for cargo transported by rail or by trucks and sits at the crossroads of the Interstate 40 east-west corridor and Interstate 17 going south to Phoenix.

The renowned campus of the University of Northern Arizona and the many outdoor activities nature offered at this high altitude made Flagstaff a hot spot in Arizona. City slickers escaping the desert heat of Phoenix still make Flagstaff their weekend escape during the summer months. Winter sports enthusiasts flock to the slopes, anglers come in spring and fall to fish and tourists arrived in their thousands in summer on their way to the Grand Canyon, down to Sedona or to explore a few miles of the historic Route 66. The sum of all that, plus a level of property speculation, had turned Flagstaff into a hot real estate market and prices for homes and rentals only went one way. George Hess and his business ventures benefited substantially from the constant upward movement.

George and his wife of more than fifteen years talked about the upcoming event and how they would play out the announcement. Instead of one of the usual public places with plenty of press around, they decided to do it here, directly from this house. George´s assistant had already installed the video equipment and put up the lighting.

It started two years ago when then business man George Hess had involuntary entered the national political stage. Before his now infamous act on TV he had been a successful but little-known real estate manager who had made a fortune selling prime properties in Arizona. He was always successful buying and selling vacant land and building parcels, something he had learned from his father who was considered a real estate tycoon himself in his time. George´s business exploded after the downturn during the financial crisis. When the real estate market in Arizona tanked in the years from 2008 to 2010, he bought any acre of land which he considered undervalued and priced low to