An Undercover Encounter

Whether a tourist or a local, there is always something to do, explore or experience in Lausanne. That's partly to do with some generous sponsorship from the Cantonal government; Lausanne makes and keeps the promise of having something to satisfy, if not delight, everyone.

From the best international DJs to classical opera and ballet with a mix of carnivals, fairs, and fetes, many of which were just an excuse for residents to gather and have a good time.

The carnival had a massive space to itself along the shores of Lake Geneva, just for them. It was a two minutes walking distance from the more touristy lakefront areas. Everyone could see the rides towering over most of the low-rise buildings in the area and hear the noise of happy children and customers.

Otherwise, the open space was a tranquil picnic spot in the autumn. It was common for students from the nearby Institute of Management Development to do meetings and take a break sprawled out on the grass. I was perched on the roof of one of the Institute's buildings, watching the carney set up their games, rides, and food stalls.

"Can we go see the freak show when the fair opens?" asked Sarah as she studied the inner workings of the fair. Though not yet open to the public, we saw everything in real-time and living colour via a network of hovering surveillance drones.

"It's already there," I gestured to the chaotic mass of humanity that continued to work, oblivious to our presence, watching and recording every move they made. And we were all taking turns sitting on this roof, without shelter from the burning summer sun because the carny's had erected a wall around the entire site.

The wall was high enough to deter the casual snooper. It would also block the more obvious giveaways of Dark chicanery, "With any luck, we'll get to see a freak show and then some." I muttered.

Sitting on that roof drove one point home about a large portion of our work. Investigations were about having the patience of a saint first to collect mountains of primarily useless information. Then analyze said mountain to find the critical pieces that link the web together into something that generally makes a terrifying form of sense.

We photographed every face and created deep dossiers on each one. We found the usual smattering of miscellaneous offences, from shoplifting to physical assault and arson. These colourful characters were well within the expected norm. Kirsten's supercomputer and hacker skills had built a detailed social network model and revealed nothing.

Finally, Lukas decided to change things up, breaking the monotony of our approach. I found myself leading the way with Sarah in tow towards the offices of Fiesta Carnivale. Their offices were just off the Place du Ripponne, a little south of the Tunnel District.

Russell, acting as our chauffeur, pulled our sleek Mercedes into a parking lot. We made our way to the reception desk via elevator to the frosted glass-fronted lobby and the semi-bored-looking receptionist behind a desk, Bluetooth clipped to his ear. "Bonjour, how may I be of service?" The receptionist asked, putting respect and disrespect into those five words that spoke of having spent years doing this job in that suit.

"Whitlocke and," I gestured demurely to Sarah, standing two steps behind to my right, "Raveshaw of Apex Investment." I played the role of the annoyed, irritable businessman to the hilt, "We have an appointment regarding a financial investment with the Fiesta Carnivale." I was dressed in a custom-tailored suit and brought my hand down with a slap on the counter.

I shot her a glance over my shoulder, and she grinned at me as he checked his computer. When Sarah spoke, it was the tone of a professional who had seen it all and quite possibly done it all, calm as the smoke off dry ice. "Our appointment was precisely two o'clock, and though we are on time…" she glanced at her watch impatiently, "they are already five minutes late. We should forget…."

Her sudden improvisation wrong-footed me but also bemused me in equal measures. "Sarah," I gave her a mildly withering glare, "We've made the trip from Geneva, and we are here, and we shall meet and present. Regardless of what other exceptional offers are already on the table." I dropped the name of their principal Geneva-based rival and changed the topic to the time of our evening flight back to the "Middle East office."

The receptionist pounced like a vulture on a carcass to desperately save what was, until moments ago, a nonexistent meeting. Kirsten had modified my Omega Sea Master to narrowcast its wireless signal, accessing their computers to create the appointment.

Confirmation of the appointment caused the receptionist's eyes to widen as he buzzed to life, "I apologize for the delay. One of the company's senior partners will be with you momentarily."

He ushered us into the conference room, spouting reassurances and platitudes as we sat down.

Within moments of our arrival, several other flunkies entered the room, each one pushing a small cart. The first was a coffee and tea service. The second and third were sweet and savoury pastries and snacks, "Please, help yourselves to whatever you may desire." He gushed with false sincerity.

The selection of food and drink on offer was exquisite. I poured coffee as Sarah daintily picked her way through the finger foods. Their chocolate cake was a divine explosion of flavour: Dark chocolate, sweet and a touch bitter, moist enough to still crumble without being dry. I made a note to kidnap their pastry chef if we had the time.

I took another piece from her plate as she took the coffee from me. We got to do this kind of thing regularly, and what works best is just being yourself. The more you try to wear a disguise or a false identity, the harder it becomes. More importantly, the easier you are to spot.

So you do whatever you can to make it easier. The first name is always real. The wardrobe is what you would wear to such a meeting - tailored to fit and, of course, broken in. Only change what you have.

You could say that this was the fun part of the job, playing the money-loaded business type during harsh economic times. She pocketed her sunglasses and gave me that mischievous half-smile for which she is famous, and I laughed out loud, "What the heck got into you?"

"We're supposed to be business people with lots of money to invest," she shrugged and grinned coyly, "I was just playing the part."

"Keep it up," I replied, "And I'll make sure you earn a hefty bonus from our beloved employer." The tiny bone conduction earpiece crackled with Lukas's dulcet tones about how our bonus would be latrine duty for the next six months.

I suppressed a grin and walked towards the window. The conference room was like many of its kind, long and rectangular, with the table as the focal point of the room with chairs neatly arranged around it.

I took my cup of coffee over to one of the impressive ten feet high, solid insulated glass windows. Minutes later, the doors opened, and the appropriate representative flew in. He was tall and slim, with a crew cut with an excessive quantity of jewellery on his hands.

The sheer number of rings on his fingers raised my suspicions. How louche could you get? But his very louche appearance convinced me this investigation was heading in the right general direction for now.