Marquanteur And The Marseille Murder Program: France Crime Thriller

By Alfred Bekker

Marquanteur And The Marseille Murder Program: France Crime Thriller

by Alfred Bekker

 

 

A posh restaurant is blown up - among the dead are two notorious gang bosses. Is someone from the outside trying to take over the underworld of Marseille, or is there a personal vendetta behind it? During the investigation, a company that develops weapons for the government comes to light.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfred Bekker
• Release date: Jul 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223508724

Alfred Bekker

Alfred Bekker wurde am 27.9.1964 in Borghorst (heute Steinfurt) geboren und wuchs in den münsterländischen Gemeinden Ladbergen und Lengerich auf. 1984 machte er Abitur, leistete danach Zivildienst auf der Pflegestation eines Altenheims und studierte an der Universität Osnabrück für das Lehramt an Grund- und Hauptschulen. Insgesamt 13 Jahre war er danach im Schuldienst tätig, bevor er sich ausschließlich der Schriftstellerei widmete. Schon als Student veröffentlichte Bekker zahlreiche Romane und Kurzgeschichten. Er war Mitautor zugkräftiger Romanserien wie Kommissar X, Jerry Cotton, Rhen Dhark, Bad Earth und Sternenfaust und schrieb eine Reihe von Kriminalromanen. Angeregt durch seine Tätigkeit als Lehrer wandte er sich schließlich auch dem Kinder- und Jugendbuch zu, wo er Buchserien wie 'Tatort Mittelalter', 'Da Vincis Fälle', 'Elbenkinder' und 'Die wilden Orks' entwickelte. Seine Fantasy-Romane um 'Das Reich der Elben', die 'DrachenErde-Saga' und die 'Gorian'-Trilogie machten ihn einem großen Publikum bekannt. Darüber hinaus schreibt er weiterhin Krimis und gemeinsam mit seiner Frau unter dem Pseudonym Conny Walden historische Romane. Einige Gruselromane für Teenager verfasste er unter dem Namen John Devlin. Für Krimis verwendete er auch das Pseudonym Neal Chadwick. Seine Romane erschienen u.a. bei Blanvalet, BVK, Goldmann, Lyx, Schneiderbuch, Arena, dtv, Ueberreuter und Bastei Lübbe und wurden in zahlreiche Sprachen übersetzt.

Book preview

Marquanteur And The Marseille Murder Program: France Crime Thriller

by Alfred Bekker

––––––––

A posh restaurant is blown up - among the dead are two notorious gang bosses. Is someone from the outside trying to take over the underworld of Marseille, or is there a personal vendetta behind it? During the investigation, a company that develops weapons for the government comes to light.

Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

COVER A.PANADERO

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

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Everything about fiction!

1

My name is Pierre Marquanteur, and I am a detective in Marseille. Together with my friend and colleague François Leroc, I belong to a special unit that mainly deals with the so-called big cases, which usually means nothing other than so-called organized crime.

Force spéciale de la police criminelle, or FoPoCri for short, is the name of the department.

Once a month I go to the range to practice handling my service weapon.

Yes, I admit: I miss sometimes, too.

In an emergency, this could cost a human life.

Either my own or that of a colleague or a hostage ... Many disastrous situations can be constructed. Even worse would be if you hit the wrong person in the field - and that also happens. Or you hit someone, the bullet pierces the body and ends up killing someone else who is completely uninvolved. I won't even go into the problem of ricochets at this point.

Shootouts where you only hit what you're supposed to hit are only in the movies.

And even there, things sometimes go wrong.

So it would actually be nice if there were ammunition that could find its own target.

Ammunition that can not miss its target, no matter how bad or careless the shooter.

Ammunition that can be programmed and tracks the target.

Almost like a drone - only much smaller.

Believe me: that would be a nightmare.

But work has long been underway to make it a reality.

*

Lee Jingxu entered the noble restaurant Schlemmertempel on Boulevard Verne with his entourage. The bald man with the Asian-star features was accompanied by a dozen men in dark tailored suits. Most of them carried MPs at the ready. They flanked their boss from all sides.

Lee Jingxu himself wore a bulletproof Kevlar vest under his jacket.

The big boss from Pointe-Rouge stopped, fixed his gaze on the men who had already taken their seats at the long table.

It was Mario Savonora and his Calabrian 'Ndrangheta people. In a flash, their hands went to their weapons as well. A dozen muzzles of MPs and automatic pistols pointed in the direction of the Chinese.

The waiter waited frozen next to the buffet.

Silence reigned for a split second.

Then Lee Jingxu muttered a curt command in Cantonese. His men lowered their weapons. The Chinese man's face remained completely unmoved.

Do you understand such a reception to be an expression of your hospitality, Monsieur Savonora? he asked in flawless French.

Mario Savonora was not yet thirty. An almost diminutive-looking man, with chin-length, black-blue hair and a thin gag beard, shaved to the millimeter. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes. He hesitated for a second, then made a sign to his men.

They also lowered their weapons now, and the situation relaxed.

Sit down! offered Savonora.

Lee Jingxu nodded. Along with some of his entourage, he approached the table while the rest spread out around the room. Someone pulled back the chair for the boss, Jingxu sat down.

A nice place you've chosen for this meeting, the man said appreciatively.

Savonora grinned wryly, chuckled, wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

Recently, it's been mine, he explained.

My respect.

Your gorillas can sniff around here as much as they want! In the kitchen, too, for all I care! I don't mind.

I assume that you are a man of honor, Mr. Savonora.

Oh, yeah?

Savonora grinned.

Lee Jingxu's face remained motionless like a mask.

Should anything else turn out to be the case, there is no place in the world where you would still be safe. I - or my successor - would then not be content with simply killing you ...

Savonora's expression became hard. Are you threatening me?

I want to rearrange the business with you.

No one will interfere with us doing that, Savonora explained.

As you can see, we have this posh place all to ourselves today.

There have been some disagreements in the past that we should sort out. We both can't afford a war right now.

Savonora bared his teeth.

I share your analysis, Mr. Jingxu.

One of the bodyguards accompanying Jingxu had positioned himself at the large window front. He looked out. The gourmet temple was on the top floor. There was a fantastic view of the park.

The bodyguard enjoyed it for a few moments. Then his facial expression changed.

It contorted into a mask of horror.

He took a step back, shouted a few words in Cantonese.

The Chinese at the table whirled around.

Savonora's men were now also staring at the window front.

The glass shattered.

Quick as an arrow, a projectile penetrated the interior of the gourmet temple.

A split second later, there was a huge detonation, followed a moment later by a second and third.

The death cries were lost in the noise of the explosions.

A murderous shock wave spread out, sending human bodies flying through space like dolls. Within seconds, Schlemmertempel was transformed into a cruel flaming hell.

2

Boulevard Verne was completely blocked by the countless emergency vehicles. Cars of the police and the fire department were there. In addition, several ambulances, vehicles of emergency doctors, emergency vehicles of the FoPoCri and the central recognition service of all Marseilles police units.

I parked the company car at the park. François and I got out.

Several hundred onlookers had gathered. The police colleagues had their work cut out to keep them from getting closer to the scene.

We stared up the facade of the skyscraper. It had happened on the top floor. The consequences of the huge explosion that had occurred could not be overlooked even from the outside. A column of smoke hung over the park. But nothing was pouring out of the destroyed windows on the top floor. Apparently, the fire had been extinguished.

A huge soot stain obscured the facade over an area of at least twenty square meters.

François and I showed our badges to our colleagues after we had pushed our way through the onlookers. A policeman waved us on.

We reached the foyer.

The security guards seemed quite hectic. The fire department's chief of operations gave his orders via walkie-talkie.

We had to show our IDs once again. The head of operations became aware of us.

FoPoCri? he asked. Your colleagues from the recognition service are already upstairs.

Do you have any idea what happened here? asked François.

Ask me lighter. It looks like someone threw a hand grenade through the window!

On the top floor? François asked.

All I said was that it looks like this. You can go up if you want, but you have to go up the stairwell. The elevators aren't back in service yet.

I took a deep breath. I had already feared that.

But that was the iron rule in every high-rise fire: never use the