The Paper Factory (Michael Berg Book 1)

The Paper Factory

By N K Sinclair

The Paper Factory

Copyright © NK Sinclair, 2012

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Prologue

Budapest, Hungary. September 2006.

  The number had flashed up on her screen three hours before.

 
“
What’s up, I haven’t left for the office yet.”

 
“I need to speak to you. And your mother.”

 
“Can’t it wait? I’ve got a lot on today.”

 
“No, it can’t wait. When?”

 
“Fine,” she said, “but I need to get to the office. I can meet you at eleven. Where?”

 
“The house. Don’t be late.”

  Short and sharp. Unlike her father.

 
The echo of the engine’s roar thundered in her ears as she powered through the Alagut. Top down, stale fumes thrown out by other cars bothered her only briefly. Within moments she was out of the tunnel. Five more minutes.

 
Gravel crunched under the low-profile tires. She glanced at the clock. Right on time. The black Mercedes in its usual place.
He’s home. Mama’s not. No car. Can talk before she arrives.

She lifted her key to the lock. Didn’t need it. The door fell open. She stepped through the porch, into the hallway. The familiar scent of home; antique wooden furniture, gun oil, the fresh lavender her mother insisted on hanging everywhere.

“Papa,” her voice raised, “it's me, where are you?” No reply. If not upstairs, the garden.

 
“Papa, it’s me,” more forcefully. If he was dozing upstairs, she didn’t want to go up and startle him.

  Silence. She stepped from the polished, parquet floorboards onto the gently curving staircase. The bare wooden boards creaked. Familiar. She stopped, held her breath. Something else. Not familiar. There it was again. A staccato drip, drip, drip. The old tap in the bathroom.

  Her footsteps lightened as she stepped onto the landing. The bathroom door, closed. Not the old tap. 

 
Cold. A shiver through her body. Bumps rising on her arms. One other room on this side of the landing. The boards creaked as she made her way towards it.

 
The metal sweet smell of blood reached her nostrils before she could bring herself to enter. She gritted her teeth, stepped into the room. A multi-tinted red mosaic of brain and blood and mush splattered across the wall above the headboard. His face, unrecognizable, neck obscenely twisted. An arm dangled, lazily, bloodied, over the side of the bed.

 
As Tereza felt her heart explode, that’s how it felt to her, and just before the sight that met her eyes triggered her brain to shut down, she caught a falling glimpse of lily white paper floating in a pool of red.

             
                                                                      ---

 
Below the index finger of the right hand, from where the blood had been rhythmically dripping onto the wooden floor, was, the police very quickly decided, a suicide note.

My beautiful Zsuzsa, my dearest Tereza,

The only thing that I can bear less than knowing that one of you will find me here is to see the look on your faces when you find out what I have done. Please forgive me for I have ruined everything. Your lives will not be the same again. I dearly hope our friends will look after you and you will not hate me as much as I have always loved the two of you.

Yours for eternity,

Attila

Chapter 1

London. Two years later.

 
“What the hell do I pay you for then?” Michael Berg growled. “I need the information today. I’m out of here first thing in the morning.”

“Listen, Michael,” said Aaron Ryan, “I’ll do what I can, but it’s complicated. CEE Outsourcing’s owned through a string of offshore companies, each one more obscure than the next.”

  Berg was about to do the biggest deal of his life. If he succeeded, the rewards would be unimaginable. Failure might destroy him.

  “I’ll be the one going down if this thing unravels like a ball of string. You think the BOS investors are going to do a mea culpa if the deal falls apart?”

  Aaron returned Michael’s gaze with embarrassed silence.

  “Go back to Sharp and get to the bottom of the ownership structure. I need it in black and white by the time I land in Warsaw tomorrow.”

 
As Aaron left the room, Michael’s mind switched to the complexities of the deal. Deep in thought, he startled at the ringing of his phone.

 
“Yes, Sarah,” irritated at the interruption.

 
“Sorry, I know you’re busy, but your wife’s on the phone.”

 
“Okay, thanks.”

  “What on Earth are you doing? You should be here by now!” said Amanda.

  “I know. Tied up. There in an hour.”

 
“You’re always doing this to me. You’re never on time.”

 
There’s a reason for that.

 
“They’ll all be arriving in the next half hour. Get here as quick as you can.”

  Michael exhaled heavily. The receiver put down, a bit too forcefully, on the other end of the line. He took his jacket from the closet beside the doorway and walked into his PA’s office.
  “G’night, Sarah,” he said, barely glancing down, bridling still at the call from his wife.

 
“This is for you.” Sarah held an A4-sized brown envelope in her hand. He glanced down. His name was printed in bold capital letters.

 
“When?”

 
“Susan brought it up. It was hand delivered a few minutes ago. While you were on the phone.”

 
“Thanks.” He took the envelope and made his way to the elevator.

---

  He reached out to hit the starter on the Range Rover, but let his hand drop instead to the envelope he’d left sitting on the hide-covered passenger seat. The dinner party could wait. If the document had been hand delivered it was probably related to the deal. Important. Curiosity got the better of him. He tore it open.

  Time stood still. Body and mind numbed themselves against what his eyes couldn’t help but see.

Chapter 2

  “Michael, how are you?” the deep and melodious voice was behind him. “Returning late from a hard day’s grubbing in the city?” the voice continued to bellow as Michael swung round. Charles was crushing a cigarette into an ashtray held in his other hand. Michael, teeth clenched and stony faced, brushed past Charles. When the other man began to follow, Michael glared at him.

 
“Listen, when you reflect on this moment at some point in the future, you’ll be glad that you’d decided to stay exactly where you are.”

 
Charles stood speechless as Michael made his way across the elegant hallway, into the kitchen and onto the rear terrace.

Ten of Amanda’s friends, not all couples, were gathered around the long wooden dining table. There were a few raised heads and grumbled hellos as Michael made his way to the top of the table, but everyone was being entertained by one of Julian Albright’s tales of adventure in faraway lands. As foreign correspondent to one of the major news agencies, Julian quite often ended up in any one of the thirty-five warzones that were being fought over around the planet at any time. Julian had lots of fine stories to impress the girls.

  Michael stood, Amanda to his left, his gaze stonily focused on the other end of the table. The remains of whatever had been the main course lay discarded, patterned china plates lying on a white cotton tablecloth. Two candles, also white, perched on silver holders, graced the table. Michael gathered a handful of the cotton tablecloth in his right hand and drew it swiftly backward.

 
The guests continued to engross themselves in Albright’s story, until the clatter and crashing of porcelain against terracotta tiling jerked them back to reality.

  Michael leapt to the bottom end of the table and grabbed Julian Albright by the back of his shirt collar and pulled him off his chair. He grasped Albright’s left arm with his other hand. The man had turned pale with shock, his body going completely limp at the unexpected assault. Michael pulled him onto the floor and dragged him through the kitchen and down the hallway.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Albright gasped.

Michael pulled him across the threshold of the front door and threw him onto the gravel driveway.

  Julian Albright lay dazed for just a moment, then jumped to his feet. Natural instinct drove him to dive at Michael. Michael’s fist hit him square in the center of his face, crushing his nose and driving him back onto the stones.

  Michael stood above him, hoping the man would rise again. He didn’t. Instead, Albright looked up at Michael, an unmistakable look of shame on his face.

  “You disgusting kniving little bastard. If I see you again I’ll do worse than kill you. Get out of here before I tear you apart.”

  Albright picked himself up and stumbled towards the gate, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Michael wasn’t about to strike again. 

  Michael felt a hand on his shoulder. Charles stood alongside him. Michael could sense the rest of the guests behind him in the doorway. Their silence told him that he was the only one that hadn’t known.
  “Out of here now. All of you,” as he turned and pushed past his shocked audience.

 
Michael and Amanda stood at opposite ends of the kitchen.

 
“I’m calling the police, you’re completely insane,” Amanda shrieked as she lifted her phone from the kitchen table.

Michael pulled the envelope from his jacket pocket, unfolded it and flung it down onto the table.

  “I’m leaving. I won’t be back. My lawyer will be in touch.”

 
“Michael, what the hell are you talking about? Are you drunk?” she said as she reached across the table. He knew from the look of hesitation on her face and the contriteness in her voice that she had guessed what the package contained. She pulled the contents from the envelope.

 
The five enlarged color photographs removed any possible doubt that his wife and Julian Albright were engaged in a very passionate affair.

  Amanda’s response surprised him.

  “You hid a camera in our bedroom. You absolute bastard. Get away from me.” Amanda threw the photographs at Michael and rushed from the room. He heard her footsteps on the stairs.

 
He picked the photographs from the floor. He sat down, the adrenalin rush dwindling.

 
In his initial shock at seeing the photographs and his immediate need to confront both Albright and his wife, he had failed to take in one crucial detail. The photographs had been taken in their bedroom. Someone had hand delivered them to his office. He didn’t know a great deal about surveillance, but he did know that breaking into a person’s house and planting a hidden camera had to have been a professional job. Therefore expensive. Why go to all the trouble?

 
Michael ventured upstairs to the bedroom, the sound of forceful sobbing coming from beyond the bathroom door. He packed enough clothes to last him for a few days and was noisy enough to ensure that he wouldn’t be disturbed. Before leaving, he looked up to the ceiling in the corner of the room where he assumed the camera had been hidden. There was nothing visible. He grabbed a chair, placed it in the corner and stood, neck straining, face turned upwards. He carefully examined the surface. Nothing. Then he saw it. A centimeter wide circle, tightly placed in the corner, by the molding. Almost invisible, but for the fact that they hadn’t bothered to repaint the plaster. Uneasiness overcame his as he stepped down from the chair and reached for his bag.

  He didn’t say good-bye.