Damnation

by Peter Beck

  Hodel fixed Winter with crystal-clear eyes. ‘My God, Winter. If that’s the case then trust in our bank will be irreversibly eroded. What proof have you got to back up your suspicions?’

  ‘It’s a gut feeling.’

  ‘Be more precise!’

  ‘How could the attackers have known that Muhammed Al-Bader was going to get into a helicopter laid on by us? Only a select group of people were privy to this information. How come the attempt to kill his brother took place exactly when I went to meet him on von Tobler’s orders? It’s not easy to get up close to the Al-Bader brothers. They’re always on the move, and they rarely appear in public. These attacks were not just coincidental.’

  ‘Are you saying we’ve got a mole in the bank?’

  ‘Yes,’ Winter said tersely.

  Silence around the table.

  The room became smaller, the walls crowding inwards menacingly, threatening to squash them. The men stared at the table top, documents were rearranged. Nobody dared look anyone else in the eye. After a minute that seemed like an eternity, Hodel said, ‘Let’s assume Winter’s right. What does that mean for our bank?’

  ‘Negative headlines, loss of reputation,’ Helfer blurted out.

  ‘And?’ Hodel looked at Schütz, who said, ‘Security-conscious clients, especially those from India, China and the Arabian Peninsula, would withdraw their money. For them Switzerland is a safe haven. We’d get into a downward spiral. Our business is based on trust, trust is based on human behaviour and once negative rumours start circulating it’s very difficult to counter these.’

  Baumgartner cleared his throat.

  Hodel looked at him.

  The liaison man stroked his slicked-back hair and said in his deep voice, ‘If you’d allow me, I’d like to mention another factor that mustn’t be ignored at the moment. You won’t be surprised to hear that I don’t always regard our cooperation as frictionless. In the current circumstances those voices at head office demanding a total integration of the bank will be getting louder. We might go so far as to abandon the name, completely merge the back offices and only retain the very best people.’

  Winter had heard a few times about the aspirations of the much bigger financial group. Those in favour of total integration argued that it would cut costs. Opponents believed that the bosom of the parent company would squash the small bank. Over the past few years von Tobler had always managed to scotch these attempts. He emphasized the bank’s close relationship with its clients, its intimate atmosphere and illustrious name.

  Winter recalled the last lunch he’d had – over a month ago in Zürich – with Hugentobler, the financial group’s head of security.

  The head office was working with McKinsey consultants to put together a cost-cutting programme. You didn’t have to be a fortune teller to predict that the external firm would recommend centralizing and standardizing everything. Perhaps the bank would be allowed to keep the name as a consolation prize. All the same, Winter was taken aback by the liaison man’s threats. The shark had smelled blood.

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ he heard Hodel say. ‘Let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater.’

  Undeterred, Baumgartner continued with extreme politeness, ‘Well, perhaps the simplest thing would be to sweep the entire matter under the carpet, and then quickly forget about it. An internal mole. Pffh.’

  He shook his head in contempt. ‘We must learn to trust each other. It’s our job to motivate and inspire our employees, not suspect them.’

  Baumgartner smiled at Winter.

  Winter, the whistle-blower.

  Känzig nodded and was about to speak again.

  Hodel, the former general staff officer, was quicker. He didn’t want to be having this discussion and said tersely, ‘Actions?’

  Helfer took the floor. ‘I’ll get on the phone and ask my journalist contacts what they know. That’ll allow me to get a sense of the extent to which the scant facts are now common knowledge. I can also set out our version of events.’ Maybe the man isn’t as stupid as I imagined, Winter thought.

  Aligning his document folder to the edge of the table, Schütz said, ‘I think we ought to go on as normal. If a client asks, we say we’re horrified at the thought we could be involved in any way and we reject any connection. We have to focus on our annual conference at the end of the week. May I remind you that we have invited lots of top-notch clients. Perhaps,’ he continued, looking at Hodel, ‘it would be a good idea if Herr von Tobler went out of his way to make plenty of time for them.’

  ‘No worries,’ Hodel replied. ‘Herr von Tobler will spend most of his time promoting our three new private equity funds to the guests.’

  Winter’s ears pricked up. ‘What does that mean exactly?’

  ‘The deliberations are still at an early stage,’ Hodel said, ‘but we’re looking to increase direct investment. We plan to create three global vehicles: one for raw materials, one for infrastructure and one for property. Opportunities for buyers are good at the moment.’

  ‘In Boston I met Professor Farmer from Pyramid Investment Partners. He assists Al-Bader and other Arab families with their investments in the United States.’

  ‘Yes, he and others are stiff competition for our investment management team,’ Schütz said. ‘They promise far greater returns. Albeit without any evidence. They don’t have any history. But they’re making life pretty tough for us.’

  ‘To stop the money drain, we have decided,’ Hodel said, meaning himself and von Tobler, ‘that we can do the same. Fees for special services are better than for off-the-peg products.’

  Hodel turned to Winter. ‘What additional security measures would you consider implementing?’ An order formulated as a question.

  ‘This conference was organized long ago, but I’m going to double-check and reinforce personal security.’

  The discussion continued for a while longer. Helfer was desperate to know what the language arrangements were. Winter zoned out and tried to put his thoughts in some sort of order. He too found it hard to believe that an employee of the bank could have collaborated with extremists. Winter was responsible for checking security. But no system was perfect. Maybe someone had recently got a new girlfriend? Maybe someone was in debt and all of a sudden open to bribery? Maybe someone had employed a consultant, or temporary employee, and skipped the security check?

  Or maybe someone was just really pissed off? The working environment wasn’t bad and the bank paid its staff a decent salary. Ever since an employee of a Zürich bank had run amok a few years back and shot several colleagues dead, they’d been making an effort. Theoretically at least. Although they’d promoted Känzig.

  Now on his feet, Känzig was trying to summarize the discussion on a whiteboard.

  Baumgartner received an urgent call and excused himself. Winter wondered whether he’d faked the call so he could leave the room. After all, almost anything was possible with today’s smartphones. Then a shiver ran down his spine. He’d completely forgotten to check who had rung Anne in the final hours before her death.

  A few minutes later Hodel closed the meeting. ‘I don’t believe I need to remind you that everything we’ve said in this room is absolutely confidential.’

  When Schütz opened the door, Winter grabbed him by the arm and nodded in the other direction. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  Schütz nodded. They went into Winter’s office. He opened the window that gave onto the rear courtyard. As ever it smelled of pizza. Making himself comfortable on the leather sofa, Schütz put his folder on the floor and said, ‘Nasty business, isn’t it?’

  ‘Schütz, in Boston and Geneva there was talk of the Baktar family. What do you know about them?’

  ‘Oh, the Baktars,’ Schütz said with a knowing smile. ‘They’re a very specific case. Dallas in Arabic. To my knowledge there was quite a lot of squabbling between the young heirs. Part of the family has rediscovered Allah and the Qu’ran; the other part couldn’t give a shit about that stuf
f and is enjoying the jet-set life. We administer a small portion of the latter’s fortune via our Geneva branch. Their petty cash for Europe.’

  ‘Ever met any of them personally?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Any rumours?’

  ‘Our Geneva colleagues weren’t unhappy to pass on the mandate.’ After a dramatic pause, Schütz continued, ‘Apparently the odd rumour was floating around that the Baktars divert money into channels we ought to have nothing to do with.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Financing of terrorists and arms. The usual, I assume.’ Schütz pulled a face. Although he found it distasteful, he operated according to the principle of ‘What I don’t know can’t hurt me’. Also known as ‘discretion’.

  ‘Could you ask Geneva what the current state of play is? I don’t want us to get a nasty surprise. Especially not after the attack yesterday. The authorities and journalists will undertake their own research.’

  ‘Will do.’ He slapped his thigh, checked the time and said, ‘But I have to go now. I’ve got a client coming in two minutes.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘My pleasure. And take care of yourself.’ Schütz pointed to the scar on his neck and must have noticed that Winter was moving his injured arm more gingerly than usual. Touched, Winter gave him a coy smile and muttered, ‘Occupational hazard.’

  After Schütz had left, Winter set about checking the phone numbers.

  According to Dirk’s list, Anne took a brief call from the bank at 16:55 on July 24.

  Winter accessed the list of the bank’s telephone extensions in the computer system. The number belonged to a telephone in room 107: first floor, room seven. Winter knew it, an unflashy conference room for internal meetings. It was right beside Anne’s office, a few metres from where he was now.

  Did someone from the bank go looking for Anne, find she wasn’t there and then call her from that conference room? Why hadn’t the bank employee used their mobile? Practically every member of staff had a mobile, on which they were required to be contactable at all times.

  Sometimes that room was used for temporary project work by external consultants or interns, but he couldn’t remember if it was currently in use. He stood up and went over to room 107. The door was closed. He knocked and entered without waiting for an answer.

  The room was furnished with the bank’s standard furniture and looked tidy, unused. The wastepaper basket was empty, the small, plastic tray full of office stationery and the obligatory flip chart blank. Winter opened the sliding door of the sideboard: empty.

  Then he turned the key of the cupboard and opened the metal doors. Inside were a dozen empty files as well as two boxes for printer paper, stuffed full of old documents. Winter pulled out a few pieces of paper: documents relating to the ‘Futura’ IT project. As far as Winter knew, very highly paid consultants from a specialist firm were developing IT architecture recommendations for the outdated trading platform for Dirk.

  As Winter was stuffing the papers back in, one of the sides of the box broke and its contents came spilling out.

  ‘Shit.’

  Winter crouched and gathered up the bits of paper. Notes, calculations, internet analyses, minutes of project and sub-project management meetings. All of a sudden he stopped what he was doing. An extraordinary sub-project management meeting had been held here in room 107 on the Friday afternoon of July 24.

  According to the minutes, three consultants had been here from two till half past four to discuss options for raising the transmission capacity of the dedicated lines between branches. Did the consultants leave the building immediately after the meeting or did they stay in the room afterwards?

  Winter kept the minutes, pushed the cardboard box into a corner of the cupboard, returned to his office and called the consultancy firm. He obtained the mobile number of the sub-project leader and managed to get hold of him. In the background Winter could hear the noise of a rail journey.

  Having introduced himself, Winter asked, ‘You were working at our offices on July the twenty-fourth, in project room 107. Did you leave straight after the meeting?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you remember what time you left the bank?’

  ‘Just before five o’clock. We took the train. Why? Is there something wrong with the bill?’ Hourly billing by consultants was a sore topic. The more hours calculated, the more revenue. When calculating their hours, consultants usually only erred in one direction: upwards. Not wanting to enter one of these discussions, Winter said, ‘No. Did you use the conference room landline?’

  ‘No. I always use my mobile.’ The consultant’s tone was a mixture of irritation and curiosity.

  ‘We’re just in the process of trying to clear up an internal transaction that doesn’t have anything to do with you or your firm.’

  The train went through a tunnel and the connection hissed. This gave Winter a few seconds to think. When the reception improved again, he continued, ‘After you finished the meeting and packed up, did you notice anything? Bump into anyone?’

  ‘Wait a sec.’ Winter heard the man stand up and walk through the train. ‘Now you ask me, I do remember something. We’d put our laptops away and were about to go when a man came in without knocking. I expect he thought the room was empty.’

  ‘Could you describe him?’

  The IT consultant leaned against the wall in a quiet corner of the train and described the man. Winter thanked him and hung up. The description matched.

  AUGUST 4 –12:55

  Schmitt, Berger & Partners detective agency was in an industrial area of Zürich. Winter had a job interview with Schmitt at half past one. Or, more accurately, an informal meeting so they could get to know each other.

  A call from a phone box, and a casual mention that he was a police officer in search of a new challenge, had sufficed. The managing partner was curious and agreed to a meeting in spite of his packed schedule.

  Having located the old factory building that housed the offices of Schmitt, Berger & Partners, Winter drove around it twice. The Audi crossed railway tracks and passed building sites, warehouses and temporary car parks. The factory was in of one of the key zones of Zürich’s urban redevelopment.

  The area behind the station was in the process of reinventing itself. Some of the old buildings dating back to the beginnings of the industrial era had already been converted into expensive lofts. Others had been occupied by short-lived clubs, restaurants and alternative shops. All on the hunt for inexpensive rents somewhere central.

  Besides a few bleak warehouses only a local brewery seemed to be still fulfilling its original function.

  Winter parked beside a wine shop which had placed a few barrels outside for decoration and was advertising organic wines. Construction vehicles started clanking away; it was one o’clock. The noise signalled to everybody within a radius of five hundred metres that the lunch break was over.

  He let a tram rattle past, crossed the street and entered the factory complex. In the huge former assembly hall with its jagged roof, filthy roof-lights and steel supporting columns, a few cheap dividing walls had been erected.

  A sign at the entrance listed about forty shops, companies and restaurants. As he was not in a hurry, Winter took a stroll through the hustle and bustle inside. In the middle of the factory hall, some restaurants were grouped around an artificial courtyard.

  Dozens of decorative olive trees stood outside a florist’s. Other shops were striving to create a Mediterranean atmosphere too. A travel agent had laid out a beach with real sand and sun loungers, and another vintner’s specialized in Tuscan wines and antipasti.

  The Schmitt, Berger & Partners offices were in the quieter area to the rear of the hall, in a side passage between the toilets and an architect’s office for wooden buildings. A discreet sign announced that Schmitt, Berger & Partners offered consulting services in personal protection and security matters. Drawn blinds on three of the windows blocked Winter’s view of the offic
e interior. Through the fourth, he caught a glimpse of an empty reception area with yet another olive tree, a computer and a modernist painting.

  Winter did a tour of the factory floor, made a few purchases and then approached Schmitt, Berger & Partners again. But before the meeting, he went into the toilets. He locked himself in the farthest cubicle, put down the lid and prepared for his visit. Three minutes later he exited the cubicle, closed the wooden door and stuck a note on it saying, ‘Broken!! Out of order!!’ That would keep people out.

  Winter washed his hands and glimpsed in the mirror. The small moustache as well as the chewing gum in his cheeks disguised his appearance. To change a few details was often enough. Satisfied, he left and entered the Schmitt, Berger & Partners offices. The olive tree had been joined by a brunette, typing away. She paused, looked up and said, ‘Hello. Who should I say is here?’

  ‘Summer. I have a meeting with Herr Schmidt.’

  With a smile she picked up the phone and announced that Herr Summer had arrived. Summer was the perfect alias, nondescript but more believable than Müller or Meier. Herr Summer smiled back.

  ‘Just a moment, please. Herr Schmitt is on his way.’ She indicated a designer chair beside the olive tree, but Herr Summer preferred to stand.

  Soon afterwards a door opened and a man in his early fifties invited Winter to come in. He was tall, suntanned and had short, grey hair. He wore jeans with a large belt buckle, and a white shirt with an embroidered monogram and rolled-up sleeves. The man’s handshake was firm and his teeth polished.

  ‘Good afternoon, Herr Summer.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Herr Schmitt. Thanks for agreeing to meet me at such short notice. I have a business meeting at the airport this afternoon and on the way here I thought there’s no point in having good ideas if you don’t follow them through. Your firm has an excellent reputation in our circles, which is why I rang out of the blue.’

  In Schmitt’s office were two further olive trees. The large desk was dominated by three screens, arranged as in a flight cockpit. Noticing Winter’s interest, Schmitt explained, ‘Today it’s impossible to underestimate the importance of IT in our business. Schmitt, Berger & Partners specializes in professional security consulting, especially in the digital world.’