Foreword

It may be a truism, but it must be stated upfront: this is a fictional story; the characters and events are fictional and entirely invented by me. All events are purely fictitious and in no way based on reality. And don't consult the search engines; the results are bound to be wrong.

Some things were taken from the real world: there's the Rossauer Barracks, St. George's College in Istanbul, a Turkish community in Vienna, and, of course, police officers, detectives, and serial killers. Indeed. I even managed to get Sir Winston Churchill, Confucius, and Sun Tzu to make an appearance, although those gentlemen are pretty much dead, not to say stone dead.

Now, the author takes all of this, the real and the invented, into his hands. He shakes his hands for a very long time to mix everything thoroughly. Then comes the crucial phase, the act of creation. He lets everything fall onto the blank sheet of paper and examines it carefully. How have the dice fallen? How do the threads run from one point to another?

Ah, no, he thinks to himself. Nothing fits; no story is emerging from his hands. Only the beginning is certain. A good story rightfully begins in Istanbul, I realize. Although, why exactly? I've never been to this city on two continents and probably never will. The truth is much more trivial. I was dreaming of a crime story whose protagonist spent his youth there. It's that simple, I won't reveal any more.

And one more thing. Since childhood, I've had an aversion to people who start reading a crime novel but then turn to the last pages to find the solution. It's always annoyed me because when I read a crime novel, I leave it to the author to guide me step by step, whether misleading me or leading me directly, that's up to them. The authors will have put a lot of thought into how they want to develop the story. Feel free to turn to the last pages; it won't do you any good.

Now then: Curtain up!

Vienna, March 2026
István Rudas