SBB.

Schweizerische Bundesbahn.

The Swiss Railway.

The tickets were baggage claims.

For the second time in twelve hours, Marcus von Daniken was back in Zurich. The sign above the entry read “Robotica AG” in meter-high letters colored a blazing blue. According to his dossier, Theo Lammers had founded the company in 1994 and was its sole owner and CEO. Its activity was referenced obscurely as “machine parts.”

A sturdy, officious-looking woman stood in the reception area, hands clasped behind her back as if awaiting a general on the parade ground. “Michaela Menz,” she announced, approaching with two soldierly strides. She was dressed in a sober two-piece suit, her brown hair cut short and parted on the side. Her business card noted that her doctorate was in mechanical engineering. With honors.

In return, von Daniken offered her a look at his ID and a hardbitten smile. Now they were equal.

“We’re still in a state of shock,” said Menz as she led the way to her office. “None of us can think of anyone who would wish to harm Mr. Lammers. He was a wonderful man.”

“I have no reason to doubt it,” said von Daniken. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. We’re as anxious as you to find the murderer. Anything you can tell me will be of great help.”

Menz’s office was small and neatly furnished. There were no pictures of family, lovers, or friends. He spotted her as a work widow and realized she was probably sick with worry. Not for Lammers so much, but for the business and who would run it now that he was dead.

“Do you think it’s a colleague who’s responsible?” she asked in a tone of enthusiastic mourning. “Someone abroad, perhaps?”

“I really couldn’t say at this point. It’s our policy not to comment on an investigation. Perhaps we can start with the company. What exactly is it that you do?”

The executive brought her chair closer to her desk. “Navigation systems. Above ground, underwater, mobile terminal positioning.” Seeing the confused look in von Daniken’s eyes, she added, “We make instruments that plot the exact position of planes and boats and cars.”

“Like GPS?”

A frown indicated that he was off base. “We don’t like to rely on satellites. We recently patented a new terrain navigation system for aircraft utilizing a technology called sensor fusion. Our device combines measurements from inertial navigation systems, digital maps, and a radar altimeter. By measuring the terrain height variations along the aircraft flight path and comparing these with a digital terrain map, we’re able to establish the exact position of the aircraft within millimeters.”

“And who buys this type of device?”

“We have many clients. Boeing, General Electric, and Airbus, among others.”

Von Daniken raised his eyebrows, impressed. “So I have you to thank when my airliner doesn’t fly into a mountain?”

“Not just us…but, in a manner of speaking, yes.”

He leaned closer, as if eager to share a secret. “I imagine that kind of work has military applications. Do you have clients in the defense industry? Aircraft manufacturers? Laser-guided munitions? That kind of thing?”

“None.”

“But some of the companies you mentioned have rather large defense-related businesses, don’t they?”

“They may, but they’re not clients. There are other companies that manufacture military navigation systems.”

To von Daniken’s ear, the answers were a shade too brisk. Lammers had, after all, been put on the watch list because of his involvement in the manufacture of large artillery pieces, including the “supergun” being made for Saddam Hussein. “Would it surprise you to learn that Mr. Lammers designed artillery pieces when he was younger?” he asked.

“He was a brilliant man,” said Menz. “I imagine he had many interests he didn’t share with me. I can only state that as a firm, we’ve never had any involvement with weapons of any kind.” Her brow drew together. “Why? Do you think that it has something to do with his death?”

“At this stage, anything is a possibility.”

“I see.” Menz looked away and he could see that she was playing with the idea. Her expression softened. Covering her face, she stifled a sob. “Please, excuse me. Theo’s death has disturbed me terribly.”

Von Daniken busied himself jotting down notes. He was no Inspector Maigret, but it seemed apparent that Michaela Menz was telling the truth. Or, at least, that if Lammers were involved in anything untoward, she didn’t know about it. He waited until the woman had calmed down, then asked, “Did Mr. Lammers travel much for his work?”

Menz raised her head. “Travel? Good Lord, yes,” she said, wiping her eyes. “He was constantly on the road. Checking installations. Taking orders. Keeping up goodwill.”

“And what countries did he visit primarily?”

“Ninety percent of our sales are within Europe. He was always bouncing between Düsseldorf, Paris, Milan, and London. The industrial hubs, mostly.”

“Ever get to the Middle East? Syria? Dubai?”

“Never.”

“No business with Israel or Egypt?”

“Absolutely not.”

“And who was responsible for booking his trips?”

“He did, I imagine.”

“Are you saying that Mr. Lammers didn’t have a secretary to make his reservations? Planes, hotels, rental cars…there’s so much that goes into planning a business trip these days.”

“He wouldn’t hear of it. Theo was a hands-on manager. He booked his travel on the Internet.”

Von Daniken scribbled the information on his pad. He didn’t buy the bit about his being a hands-on manager. Secretive was more like it. He didn’t want anyone looking over his shoulder when he booked his flights in the name of Jules Gaye or any other of his aliases. “Dr. Menz,” he asked with the promise of a smile. “Do you think I might see his office? It would help me get a better feel for him.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

In fact, von Daniken was already exceeding his brief. There hadn’t been time to apply for a warrant. In the eyes of the law, he had no right to snoop around the establishment. “I want to do everything possible to catch the man who killed him,” he said, challenging her with his gaze. “Don’t you?”

Michaela Menz rose from the desk and beckoned von Daniken to follow her. Lammers’s office was next door. The space was the same size as Menz’s, the furnishings equally spare. Von Daniken’s eye immediately caught on an intriguing object displayed on the credenza. The device was a half meter in height, made of some kind of translucent plastic and shaped like a V. “And this? Is it one of your products?” he asked.

“It is an MAV,” said Dr. Menz. “A micro airborne vehicle.”

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the MAV. Menz nodded and he picked it up. The object weighed less than one kilogram. The wings were at once incredibly firm and strangely flexible. “Does it actually fly?”

“Of course,” she responded, bristling as if insulted. “It has a range of fifty kilometers and can reach a top speed of over four hundred kilometers per hour.”

“Impossible!” declaimed von Daniken, playing the part of the yokel. “And he built it here?”

Menz nodded approvingly. “With his own hands in our R and D lab. This one’s the smallest he’s produced. He was quite proud of it.”

Von Daniken memorized her every word. Range: fifty kilometers. Speed: four hundred kilometers an hour. Built with his own hands…the smallest he’s produced. Which meant there were others. He studied the odd aircraft.

No doubt it was guided by a navigation system accurate to within centimeters. “Is it one of your products? Were you thinking of adding it to the line? Branching into toys?”

As hoped, Menz stiffened at the word. Stepping forward, she relieved him of the remote-controlled aircraft. “The MAV is no toy. It’s the lightest vehicle of its kind in the world. For your information, we built it for a very important client.”