Trojan Horse Read Online Free Page A

frank, sometimes he forgot.
    Still . . . someone wanted him to look bad. That was the most likely answer.
Who could that be?
Though he’d been very careful during his time in Geneva there were always enemies, those who disliked him personally, those who sabotaged a colleague for fun, those with an agenda. And there was always the latent hostility toward all Germans you saw throughout Europe. No, any list would be very long and he was sure to omit someone.
    Three others had keys officially but how could he know for certain where it ended? He was not the only one ever assigned to this office. They might have kept the key. That’s what he would have done. Then there was the cleaning staff. Not all of them were Swiss. Some were Italians.
    Then he recalled that he was supposed to lock his computer screen whenever he left his desk, but he rarely did so and it locked automatically after being idle for fifteen minutes anyway. The only way someone could have altered his report was to slip into his office while he was away and
before
the computer went into default mode and required the password.
    Herlicher strained to recall the events leading up to the e-mail. What had he done? Had he left the office long enough for someone to make changes? He wiped his brow with his pristine handkerchief.
    Now he had it. He’d left his office to use the restroom. He’d finished the final draft and decided to take a break before composing the e-mail to Walthrop. He left the office and passed . . . Carlos Estancia, his supervisor. Why didn’t he think of that immediately? It was so obvious. The man didn’t like him. How many times and in how many ways had he shown that? But had Estancia popped into his office during the time Herlicher had been gone and quickly altered the report?
    How long
had
he been gone? Herlicher considered it and was crestfallen at his conclusion. Five minutes. No more. That was simply not enough time for anyone to make the subtle changes in the report. And on reflection, the extent and quality of the alterations were certainly beyond Estancia’s ability. The man was a moron.
    Suddenly Herlicher collapsed in his chair. Now he remembered. He’d performed a final copy edit, then had sent at once. There had been no delay.
    There’d been no time for anyone to sabotage his report. None.
Maybe, maybe, I really am losing my mind.

4
     
    LONDON, UK
    WHITEHALL
    FOREIGN AND COMMONWEALTH OFFICE
    RESEARCH GROUP FOR FAR EAST AFFAIRS
    5:33 P.M. GMT
     
    L loyd Walthrop was still angry with Herlicher. The man had called and left a voice mail and now had sent by e-mail an explanation Walthrop refused to read. The German was a cretin. Walthrop had always taken him to be a weasel but until now he’d assumed the man would deal with him honestly, at least until it was in his interest not to.
    He’d first met Herlicher the previous year at a Madrid conference on the state of the Iranian economy. It was an area of official mutual concern. At the time he’d seemed a mild-mannered, if a bit paranoid, German bureaucrat. The only thing notable about him was that he worked for UNOG in Geneva. Even that wasn’t especially significant until he’d let drop that his primary duties were with the UN Office for Disarmament Affairs and that he served on the committee tasked with producing any United Nations’ status reports and recommendation on Iran’s nuclear program. That had caught Walthrop’s attention, as he assumed it was meant to.
    Walthrop had been pleased at the contact. Since then, they’d exchanged e-mails and reports but in recent weeks he’d impatiently waited for a new nuclear report. Herlicher had been assigned its actual writing and that struck Walthrop as a coup for himself.
    Though officially assigned to the Foreign Office, the key aspect of Walthrop’s job was to gather intelligence from the various branches of the UK government and to funnel it to those who needed to know. Occasionally he acquired an interesting tidbit from