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Zusatztext “Not one for cookie-cutter cheap thrills! Silva’s mastered the art of weaving provocative narrative! espionage and foreign intrigue."— Chicago Sun-Times "A masterful and compelling tale of evil! treachery and revenge...goes to the top of the list of this year's best."— Rocky Mountain News "A masterfully constructed tale of memory and revenge. It demonstrates that thrillers can be more than entertainment."— The Miami Herald "[A] superbly crafted narrative of espionage and foreign intrigue."— Publishers Weekly "A thriller that’s not content to be just a thriller! as it delves into issues involving the Holocaust and its perpetrators and survivors."— The Kansas City Star "[A] world-class practitioner of spy fiction… Silva writes with style! economy and a sure command of the historical record…a skillful novelist who does justice to the often heartbreaking material without exploiting it."— The Washington Post Book World "Reads like an exquisitely suspenseful chess game."— Booklist Informationen zum Autor Daniel Silva Klappentext Gabriel Allon's nightmares come back to haunt him in this tense thriller from #1 New York Times bestselling author Daniel Silva. Art restorer and sometime spy Gabriel Allon is sent to Vienna to discover the truth behind a bombing that killed an old friend! but while there he encounters something that turns his world upside down. It is a face-a face that feels hauntingly familiar! a face that chills him to the bone. While desperately searching for answers! Allon will uncover a portrait of evil stretching across sixty years and thousands of lives-and into his own personal nightmares... PART ONE The Man From Café central 1 VIENNA THE OFFICE IS hard to find, and intentionally so. Located near the end of a narrow, curving lane, in a quarter of Vienna more renowned for its nightlife than its tragic past, the entrance is marked only by a small brass plaque bearing the inscription Wartime Claims and Inquiries. The security system, installed by an obscure firm based in Tel Aviv, is formidable and highly visible. A camera glowers menacingly from above the door. No one is admitted without an appointment and a letter of introduction. Visitors must pass through a finely tuned magnetometer. Purses and briefcases are inspected with unsmiling efficiency by one of two disarmingly pretty girls. One is called Reveka, the other Sarah. Once inside, the visitor is escorted along a claustrophobic corridor lined with gunmetal-gray filing cabinets, then into a large typically Viennese chamber with pale floors, a high ceiling, and bookshelves bowed beneath the weight of countless volumes and file folders. The donnish clutter is appealing, though some are unnerved by the green-tinted bulletproof windows overlooking the melancholy courtyard. The man who works there is untidy and easily missed. It is his special talent. Sometimes, as you enter, he is standing atop a library ladder rummaging for a book. Usually he is seated at his desk, wreathed in cigarette smoke, peering at the stack of paperwork and files that never seems to diminish. He takes a moment to finish a sentence or jot a loose minute in the margin of a document, then he rises and extends his tiny hand, his quick brown eyes flickering over you. “Eli Lavon,” he says modestly as he shakes your hand, though everyone in Vienna knows who runs Wartime Claims and Inquiries. Were it not for Lavon’s well-established reputation, his appearance—a shirtfront chronically smeared with ash, a shabby burgundy-colored cardigan with patches on the elbows and a tattered hem—might prove disturbing. Some suspect he is without sufficient means; others imagine he is an ascetic or even slightly mad. One woman who wanted help winning restitution from a Swiss bank concluded he was suffering from a...
