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Informationen zum Autor Bernhard Schlink was born in Germany. He is the author of The Weekend , as well as the internationally bestselling novels The Reader and Homecoming , as well as the collection of short stories Flights of Love and four prizewinning crime novels— The Gordian Knot , Self's Deception, Self's Punishment , and Self’s Murder . He lives in Berlin and New York. Klappentext A classic noir thriller about love and deception from the bestselling author of The Reader. Georg Polger ekes out a lonely living as a freelance translator in the south of France! until he is approached by a certain Mr. Bulnakov! who has a intriguing proposition: Georg is to take over a local translation agency and finish a project left by the previous owner! who died in a mysterious accident. The money is right and then there is the matter of Bulnakov's secretary! Francoise! with whom Georg has fallen hopelessly in love. Late one night! however! Georg discovers Francoise secretly photographing a sensitive military project. He is shocked and heartbroken. Then! her eventual disappearance leaves him not only bereft! but suspicious of the motivations behind Mr. Bulnakov's offer. To make matters worse! Georg's every move is being watched. Determined to find out who Francoise really is! and to foil who ever is tracking him! Georg sets out on an mission that will take him to New York City! where with each step he is dragged deeper and deeper into a deadly whirlpool in which friend and foe are indistinguishable. 1 Georg was driving home. He left the highway by Aix and took a back road. From Marseille to Aix there are no tolls, from Aix to Pertuis there is a charge of five francs: that's a pack of Gauloises. Georg lit one. The trip to Marseille hadn't panned out. The head of the translation agency that sent him jobs now and then had had no work for him this time. "I said I'd give you a call if anything came up. Things are a bit slow right now." Monsieur Maurin had assumed an anxious expression--what he had said might in fact be true. It was his agency, but he lived off jobs from the aircraft factory in Toulon, the Industries Aeronautiques Mermoz. When the joint European venture for a new fighter-helicopter in which Mermoz was involved stalled, there was nothing for Monsieur Maurin to translate. Or else he had once again tried to get better terms and Mermoz was teaching him a lesson. Or the factory had made good its long-standing threat and hired its own translators. The road rose steeply beyond Aix, and the engine stuttered. Georg broke out in a sweat. This was all he needed! He had bought the old Peugeot only three weeks ago--his parents had come to visit him from Heidelberg and given him the money. "I think you really need a car for your job," his father had said, and dropped two thousand marks in the box on the kitchen counter in which Georg kept his money. "You know Mother and I like to help all we can. But now that I'm retired and your sister has a baby . . ." Then came the questions Georg had heard a thousand times: Couldn't he find himself a better job nearer home? Why had he left his job as a lawyer in Karlsruhe? Couldn't he come back to Germany now that he'd broken up with Hanne? Was he going to abandon his parents in their old age? There was more to life, after all, than finding oneself. "Do you want your mother to die all alone?" Georg was ashamed, because he was happy enough for the two thousand marks, but didn't care in the least what his father was saying. The gas tank was almost full, and he had changed the oil and filter not too long ago, so there couldn't be anything wrong. As he drove on, he listened to the engine the way a mother listens to the breath of a feverish child. The car wasn't jerking anymore. But wasn't there some kind of thumping? A grinding, crunching noise? Georg had driven the car for three weeks without...
