State Of The Union

The oddly named Küss (Kiss) Film und Video Produktion company was located in an old derelict warehouse building in a rather seedy and run-down section of the former East Berlin. Herman found a parking spot a few spaces away from the entrance and he and Harvath walked up to a reinforced security door where Herman rang the intercom. A voice over the speaker responded, “Wer ist da?” Herman identified himself and a buzzer sounded as the door’s automatic lock released.

Harvath followed Herman inside past numerous wooden pallets stacked high with large cardboard boxes emblazoned with the company’s not so subtle logo-a glossy pair of red lips pursed in a kiss. He noticed conveyor belts with shrink wrapping machines and off on the other side of the beat-up warehouse, transparent pneumatic doors leading into a pristine clean room with racks of video duplicating equipment. He also had counted no less than seven security cameras since they had walked through the front door.

“Where the hell are we?” asked Harvath as he and Herman approached a large, padded door at the rear of the warehouse. It was covered in deep, red leather and studded with brilliant chrome rivets.

“I’ll let Max explain. This is his friend’s business,” said Herman as they opened the door and stepped into an opulent lobby area that stood in stark contrast to the warehouse behind them. The floors were covered in black marble that was so highly polished it shone like a mirror. Hanging on the wall behind a granite receptionist’s station was the company’s logo done up in bright neon. A low-slung, brushed aluminum table fronted an opulent white leather sectional, and when Harvath caught sight of a series of framed movie posters on the wall, his suspicions of what kind of films and videos the company produced were all but confirmed.

He was about to say something to Herman when Max appeared from the adjacent corridor and called them over.

“Max, what the hell is this place? Peter’s Porn Emporium?” asked Harvath.

“Actually,” said Max, “it’s Marc’s Porn Emporium. Better known as Küss Film und-”

“Video Produktion,” interrupted Harvath. “I know. I saw the sign. The lips are a nice touch. What the hell are we doing here?”

“Looking at your videos. Marc has developed a very interesting niche in the Berlin postproduction market, but I think it will be more interesting if he tells you himself. He’s in the back. “I’ll show you.”

Max turned and walked back down the corridor with Scot and Herman right behind him. They passed a fully equipped state-of-the-art soundstage, booths for audio recording, a master control room, and several high-end editing suites. It was in the very last suite that they found Marc Schroeder, the president and CEO of Küss Film und Video Produktion seated in front of a wide flat panel computer monitor, hard at work. As his guests entered, he spun in his chair and stood to greet them. He was tall, about six feet, clean-cut with perfectly creased khakis and a neatly pressed oxford shirt-not at all the picture Harvath harbored in his mind of a porn producer.

“Marc, I’d like you to meet Scot Harvath and Herman Toffle,” said Max.

Schroeder shook Herman’s hand and upon shaking hands with Harvath joked, “I understand you’re the reason we’re all here. Do you know what I charge for coming in after hours like this?”

“I would have thought you do your best work at night,” replied Harvath.

“A man with a sense of humor. I like that! Please, take a seat,” laughed Marc, as he cleared away a stack of videocassette sleeves from the leather couch behind him.

“I’m not going to stick to this, am I?” asked Harvath.

Marc continued laughing and rolled his chair back over to his ergonomically designed edit station. “There’s that sense of humor again. You Americans love to kid.”

“Who’s kidding?” said Harvath under his breath to Herman. “Marc,” continued Scot, trying to move things along, “What about our footage? Were you able to get anything from it?”

“The first thing I looked at when Max arrived were the digital stills from the traffic cameras. All they show are individual cars in the midst of committing traffic infractions. Without knowing what specific car you are looking for, it is not very helpful. The cameras cover the intersection only and nothing parked up the street, so I decided to set that aside.

“The bank footage, on the other hand, was much more promising. The bank uses very wide angle lenses on its outdoor cameras.”

Harvath watched while the image in front of them broke down into hundreds of little blocks and became a blur as Schroeder scrolled backwards until he got to the point on the tape that he wanted. “Here we are. Two days ago.” He pushed play and sat back in his chair.

Harvath watched for a few moments and then said, “I don’t see anything. It just looks like the outside of the bank to me.”

“Watch the top of the screen,” offered Schroeder. “It’s coming in five seconds.”