by Peter Beck
‘It wasn’t to be.’
‘I’m really sorry, Tom,’ she sympathized.
‘Thank you.’ Sometimes the world was a cruel place.
Andrea nodded, and she looked a little uncomfortable.
‘Seeing as Anne’s no longer here, you ought to know that she had another admirer,’ she said then.
Winter tensed inside and Andrea retracted her hand.
‘We discussed a few times in the last few weeks whether she ought to tell you or not. We weren’t sure how you would react. When we went on our final ride, along the stream to Oberentfelden and back through the woods, we almost had an argument.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Although I only knew you from what Anne had said, I thought that you definitely wouldn’t have a problem with it. She thought a lot of you and I thought you’d understand. Anne didn’t want to talk to you about it. Or felt she couldn’t. At least not while everything was still up in the air. It was too private. She didn’t want to put a strain on your relationship before she knew how far it might go.’
‘When was this exactly?’
‘I don’t know. Hold on, yes I do. On July the twenty-second. I was working in the morning and we celebrated Ralph’s fifteenth birthday at the home. He’s in a wheelchair and I held the cake for him so he could blow out the candles. Yes, it was the twenty-second.’ Shaking her head pensively, she wrapped her arms around her body. ‘It seems like an age ago. Anne told me that you’d invited her to dinner. You’re renovating your house, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but I haven’t got as far as you,’ Winter said, nodding at the farmhouse. His terrace wasn’t even finished. But at the moment that was irrelevant and he asked, ‘What did Anne say? Was there anything else?’
This second sentence, in particular the ‘else’, had slipped out unwittingly. He’d been struggling with the unwritten, internal rules of the bank. She had been his colleague, and that’s why he’d been restrained. Too hesitant, maybe. And so it was no surprise that there’d been another relationship. Anne was an attractive woman. The love letter alone spoke volumes.
Andrea shook her head, smiling. ‘No, it wasn’t what you think. It was not reciprocated. You were the only one.’
Winter looked at Andrea in relief. Until she said, ‘But that old fart von Tobler, he was after Anne.’
‘J’ as in Josef von Tobler.
‘Shit!’
The dog lifted its head in shock.
AUGUST 4 – 19:10
Winter was out running.
On the motorway home he’d got annoyed by drivers who stuck to the speed limit. Now he was annoyed by von Tobler. But deep down he knew that he was annoyed at himself. Why hadn’t he been more open towards Anne with his feelings? Why had he listened to his sense of duty rather than his heart? Why hadn’t he been more honest with her?
He hoped that running would allow him to let off steam.
As ever the river flowed peacefully and unperturbed. A never-ending cycle. He’d worked up to a fast rhythm, breathing quickly through his mouth to fill his lungs, and feeling the tension in his thighs.
The angling rays of the evening sun cast long shadows through the sparse wood. The pattern of these shadows flitting past Winter gave him the illusion that he was running even faster. The blue of the river, the cool temperature and the endorphins calmed him down.
Winter started to relax.
Now he knew that Josef von Tobler had been after Anne, it was obvious.
He’d just been blind.
His insight had failed him. You didn’t have to know von Tobler particularly well to realize that even at his age he was still chasing after women. He probably hunted them like trophies. And he probably had some sort of arrangement to this effect with his third wife, the blonde Swede.
And a marriage contract.
In any event, now Winter understood von Tobler’s touching eulogy. Maybe the bank’s CEO had loved Anne in his own sort of way. Anne was almost the same age as von Tobler’s daughter, Miriam. Perhaps it was a kind of paternal affection, although the passionate love-letter, whose handwriting had looked familiar to Winter told a very different story.
The letter was excellent insurance.
He would guard it in a safe place.
How had Anne reacted to von Tobler’s advances? Had she unambiguously turned him down, or had she kept her distance diplomatically? Both a blunt rejection and a vague maybe would have fuelled von Tobler’s hunting instinct.
As an employee Anne had been in a difficult situation. Although there’d been two levels in the hierarchy between her and von Tobler – Winter and Känzig – life would have been tricky for her if she’d got on the wrong side of the CEO.
Von Tobler was used to getting whatever he wanted. More than once, Winter had seen the old man give disagreeable employees a public roasting, or furiously badmouth other people. He was generally a very jovial fellow, but there was another side to him. He had high blood pressure and a quick temper.
Had von Tobler lost his temper because Anne had rejected him? Winter couldn’t imagine that. But nor could he imagine the CEO seriously wishing to have a relationship with Anne. For him women were mere distraction, or decoration. Money, the bank and business always had priority.
Should he confront von Tobler? No. Not yet. Winter wasn’t sure what the point of such a discussion would be. He had a good relationship with the boss. And although Anne was dead it would be weird for him to discuss her with von Tobler. He decided to postpone the matter.
Winter came to the covered wooden bridge and crossed the Aare to begin his way back. He dropped his speed slightly, began to breathe more deeply and settled into a rhythm of four steps per breath. The soft woodland path ran ever so gently downwards and the water was now flowing in Winter’s direction. The sky was still light and cloudless.
He decided that Anne should occupy a place of honour in his memory.
For half an hour he stopped thinking, applied himself exclusively to his running and made his way back along the river.
When he came level with home it was time for the final spurt. A dusty, narrow path zigzagged up to his house, climbing one hundred metres along the way. Winter used this last stretch to get his pulse properly racing again.
After an hour of running, his thighs were burning.
But the end was in sight.
Winter focused on the steep path, overgrown with roots. No tripping. Panting and sweating he made his way up and didn’t see Meister until he’d arrived at the top.
‘Hello, Winter. Fit as ever.’
Meister regarded sport as murder.
This is all I need, Winter thought.
Between breaths he managed gasp a ‘Good evening’. Supporting his back with his hands he greedily took in the evening air.
‘I live nearby, and when I saw you were back I thought a little visit wouldn’t hurt.’
The ‘nearby’ was meaningless and Winter didn’t believe him one bit. Meister didn’t do coincidences. He was wearing the same summer shoes with tiny holes and the same shirt from a supermarket multipack.
‘I’ll change my number tomorrow,’ Winter panted.
Meister just smiled.
Winter began stretching his right leg. He put his heel on a tree stump and bent forwards over his knee.
‘You’ve been pretty busy over the last few days, Winter. You could have told me about your afternoon of golf with Al-Bader in Geneva.’
‘I never got round to it. But it seems as if communication between the various authorities has been working flawlessly, even across the language barrier of the rösti border.’
‘Winter, we have a problem.’
Switching legs, Winter bent over his left knee and slowly stretched his warm muscles. ‘Just one?’
‘Listen, I’m being serious. I’ve spent the whole day smoothing the information flow and then I went with the director to see the minister. He’s going to inform the Federal Council tomorrow.’ His minister was ul
timately responsible for Switzerland’s internal security. Meister had Winter’s attention. Getting an early night is out of the question now, Winter thought. He stood back up and extended his left arm.
‘I’m all ears.’
‘With the Americans’ help we’ve identified the fourth man from Geneva. He was one of the leaders of a political splinter group from the Midwest: True and Armed Americans, TAA. They see themselves as following in the tradition of the crusaders. The ‘T’ is written like a cross. They represent a mixture of nationalist, ultra-religious and arch-conservative thinking. You know the sort of stuff: ‘America for the Americans’, ‘Weapons for the free’ and ‘Abortion is murder’. It’s a registered party, it’s legal, but insignificant. It evolved after 9/11 from dissatisfied Republicans, unemployed racists, bankrupt farmers and disappointed soldiers. In their frustration the True and Armed Americans hate blacks, Jews, Asians and Arabs, in short everyone who isn’t like them. Our colleagues have had them under observation for some time and suspect that members of the party have carried out attacks on moderate politicians, and high-level government officials. Their preferred methods are threats, slander and letter bombs.
Max would slot in perfectly, Winter thought.
Meister let his words sink in. ‘The TAA has many members who fought in Afghanistan and the second Gulf War. It’s also integrated with European nationalists.’
‘The Tyrolean,’ Winter said.
Nodding, the spy continued, ‘The NSA informers believe that the True and Armed Americans modified their strategy about a year ago. This information was classified as reliable by the experts. Their principle is: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, for which you can find justification in the world’s most read book. In practical terms, it means that because the evil Arabs killed Americans, we’re going to kill Arabs. But as they can’t kill them all at once, they’re focusing on a few high-profile individuals. Al-Bader wanted to invest in the US. As far as the TAA is concerned, that represents a selling-out of their homeland and must be prevented at all costs.’
Winter just nodded. He’d used almost exactly these same words that morning. Stretching his right arm instinctively, he encouraged Meister to go on.
‘Put yourself in the minds of these madmen and tell me how you would select your victims.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘They’re revolutionaries taking on the establishment.’
‘Aren’t we all?’
‘What holds the world together at its core?’
‘Now you’re getting philosophical.’
‘Money.’
Although Winter didn’t agree with this answer, he was starting to understand where Meister was coming from. He froze.
‘Do you have any concrete proof that our bank is in particular danger?’
‘No, but the Americans believe that attacks are planned against the global financial system too. As Swiss banks administer a substantial share of global wealth, they are of course particularly vulnerable. A whole string of TAA members have gone off the radar. Some have been sighted in Europe. This afternoon I spoke to the president of the banking union and asked him to instruct his members to be especially vigilant.’
‘And you think that Al-Bader was a victim of this True American sect?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s buying up America. As a prime mover he was – and his brother is – in serious danger. Apparently there’s a list of names. I haven’t seen it, but everyone who’s anyone in business is on there. And it doesn’t matter how much they’ve given away in donations or what good deeds they’ve done.’
‘But how did the rednecks get at Strittmatter’s helicopter?’
‘That’s what I was going to ask you.’
‘I’ve no idea.’ This wasn’t altogether true, but Winter was sure that Meister knew more than he was giving away.
‘The Federal Aviation Safety Investigation Board and the laboratory in Spiez have released the first draft of their report. It’s provisional and highly confidential.’
‘Don’t keep me on tenterhooks. I’m starting to get chilly here.’ They took the path back to Winter’s house.
‘The laboratory in Spiez came to the conclusion that the helicopter was brought down by an incendiary device. It was supposed to look like engine damage. The chemists in Spiez reckon that in all likelihood between one and two litres of accelerant were sprayed throughout the cockpit and ignited in an instant. Al-Bader and Anne caught fire immediately; their clothes are burned almost to a cinder.
This explained Anne’s final words. Horrific.
‘Strittmatter was further away from the source of the fire. It took longer with him.’
‘But how did they do it?’
‘Do you drink whisky?’
‘Do I need to get drunk for this?’
‘Maybe. You’ve seen the airport’s security video.’ This was a statement rather than a question. Winter nodded. He didn’t want to get Ben into trouble.
‘The eggheads at the laboratory didn’t find any shards of glass or a bottle.’ Winter remembered the cylindrical carton under Anne’s left arm. ‘According to the report the accelerant was in a plastic rather than glass bottle. Remains of the molten plastic were found, containing bubbles with trapped accelerant.’
‘You think Anne took the bomb aboard?’ Winter choked out this awful suspicion.
‘Yes.’
Winter was speechless.
‘The detonator reacted to air pressure and exploded as soon as the helicopter had reached a certain height. Bang.’ Meister irreverently puffed up his cheeks and with his hands made a childish gesture to signify an explosion. ‘Al-Bader arrived in his private jet. Strittmatter with his helicopter. Both of them flew.’
Had Anne really brought the deadly bomb on board?
‘Where did your colleague get the welcome gift for Al-Bader?’
‘The chocolates are standard for these clients. Al-Bader loved them. I brought him boxes like that myself a few times. Every branch gets a monthly delivery. One of the assistants is responsible for them.’ He’d question the assistants at the first opportunity.
‘Would anybody have had the chance to tamper with the box?’
‘They’re not stored in the safe.’ Lots of people had access. They were usually kept in the cool basement, alongside the wine. When Meister didn’t reply, Winter knew what he was waiting for.
‘I can’t explain the bottle in the gift box. Muslims don’t drink alcohol.’
‘And all Christians are monogamous.’
‘The Al-Bader brothers might enjoy the odd glass in private,’ Winter conceded; he recalled Al-Bader’s suite and how they’d toasted their adventure in the early hours. ‘The bank does all it can to avoid embarrassing situations.’ Meister nodded sympathetically.
‘The first time I saw the carton was on the security video and I’ve no idea where Anne got it from. Perhaps Al-Bader ordered the bottle as a present for a business partner or to toast a deal with them? We often end up being gophers. It’s all part of the service.’
Winter noticed that he was desperately looking for excuses to exonerate Anne.
‘Have you already analysed the other airport videos?’
Winter was ready to clutch at any straw.
‘No, but the Zürich police have detailed two men to work with airport security. They’re studying all the videos from the period in question. It’s going to take a while yet.’
Meister and Winter were on the unfinished terrace. The folded loungers were leaning against the wall. The spade stood on its own in the earth. Granite slabs scattered around. The sun had set.
Winter’s sweat had dried. His T-shirt was stiff.
He shook his head and went up the wooden steps. Meister followed. They walked along the creaking balcony and Winter opened the door.
‘Watch out!’ he said, pointing to the low, seventeenth-century doorframe – from an era when people were shorter, and died at forty.
Meister stayed in the middle of the sitting room while Winter put on a jumper. Then he went to the fridge, poured himself some orange juice, diluted it with half water and drank thirstily.
‘Cosy place you’ve got here,’ Meister said.
‘Want some?’ Winter lifted his glass.
Meister shook his head and returned to his car. A very ordinary white Opel with a ‘Baby on Board’ sticker. Halfway there he turned around. ‘Winter, find the mole in the bank, would you? Time is running out.’
Winter nodded in the twilight.
AUGUST 4 – 22:07
Winter drank some more diluted orange juice, took a shower, tidied up a bit and then decided to view the DVD from Zürich Airport again. When he’d watched the recording with Ben and then again on his own, he hadn’t really paid attention to the carton.
Prior to the sheikh’s visit, Winter and Anne had discussed looking after Al-Bader and what his penchants were. She’d also asked him whether their guest drank alcohol. Winter had said that Al-Bader might drink a glass or two at business meals.
He’d assumed that Anne had taken it upon herself to supplement the usual welcome box of chocolates with a bottle.
He’d assumed that she’d bought the whisky at the duty-free shop at Zürich Airport.
Never assume, ass-u-me! Christ.
He fast forwarded until Anne appeared in the picture, then focused on the two presents. She arrived in the customs car. Winter first spotted the box of chocolates just before she got out. She’d put the bulky box on top of the dashboard so she could get out unencumbered.
The Lindt & Sprüngli chocolates were wrapped in gift paper, decorated with a large bow, in the bank’s livery colours. The proximity to the bomb explained the residues on the bow, which the explosives detector at airport had picked up.
Then he saw the carton on her lap.
Anne got out. She held the carton in her left hand and clamped the box of chocolates under her arm. Intuitively, she made sure she kept the bottle vertical. She’d felt the shifting of weight of the liquid inside.
The cylindrical carton wasn’t gift-wrapped. At the top was a plastic lid and there was writing on the side.